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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

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the tale of agape I — jjk

World Info: There are eight types of Love originated from Ancient Greece. In the Realm of Love, these types have been turned into seven Gods and one Goddess. — Agape (universal): OC (Name: Belle) | Pragma (everlasting): Jungkook | Storge (familial): Yoongi | Mania (obsession): Seokjin | Philia (platonic): Namjoon | Eros (sexual passion): Taehyung | Philautia (self-love): Hoseok | Ludus (playful): Jimin

Plot: Agape is a well-loved Goddess in the Realm of Love. Anyone who wins her approval will become the most powerful entity in the land, standing side by side as a co-symbol of eternal Love. Unfortunately with knowledge of this power, Gods and Nymphs are prone to obsession and cunning. So Agapes’ de facto brother, Storge organises a tournament in her honour. Only the winner will become Agapes’ partner.

Pairing(s): God!Jungkook x Goddess!OC (Name: Belle) ft. God!Seokjin

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 2.6k

Genre: Gods & Goddesses | Fantasy | Romance

Tags & Warnings: betrayal, nothing intense in this chapter but there will eventual smut and violence so

Authors Note: i miss doing a jungkook series lmao so here you go, there were a lot of people during requests asking for a god/goddess au so I’m going on that with a new plot based on the eight types of love. I’m also extremely sleepy and ready to pass out, please excuse any mistakes. And lastly of course, enjoy and let me know what you think! Is this something you’d want me to continue or nah?

Morning began with soft sunlight painting the Love Realm, making the Cherry Palace sandstone glow like a topaz gem. Yoongi, the God of Familial Love stood at the terrace with the God of Platonic Love, Namjoon. Their soft silk robes flowed in the cool breeze as they watched the chariots of red, gold and blue riding into the courtyard; each vehicle pulled by majestic stallions.

“Are you sure about this?” Namjoon asked, eyes gently squinted to adjust to the bright day. His flowing blonde hair looked almost white from the reflection of the sun.

Yoongi shook his head, heart shaped lips pursed. “I don’t like it as much as you do but this is the only way we can filter out the ones on our own accord.”

“Is Belle okay with this?”

“She likes tournaments. Chose the method herself.”

“Jousting?”

Yoongi hummed in agreement, unable to hide the smile spreading across his lips.

Namjoon chuckled. “Sometimes I think she just likes the knocking of heads.”

“Agape has a cheek to her.” Yoongi leaned forward on the balcony railing. All the heads padded out of their chariots, escorted by servants into the palace. Only one chariot hadn’t arrived yet.

“Seokjin is coming too?” Namjoons’ voice grew deep with slight contempt.

“I have to invite him. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You know how he gets, Yoongi.” Namjoon shifted to face him completely. “What if he gets out of control in this tournament?”

“I gave him my warning last time.” Yoongi raised a hand to calm him. “He knows what’ll happen.”

“You can’t kill him.”

“Oh I’ll keep him alive.”

Namjoon shook his head, laughing. “How do you make even that sound threatening?”

Yoongi grinned. “I made her my sister for a reason. No one hurts her on my account.”

“Understood.”

Refreshing wind brushed through the transparent crème curtains into Belles’ room as her lady-in-waiting fit her into a warm pink georgette dress for the first tournament. The tone matched her pink irises, making them look more otherworldly than ever.

Angel let out a satisfied sigh after fixing the train. “Lord Yoongi knows how to pick dresses.” She stood up straight and fixed the gold patchwork bordering the shoulder of the dress.

“He always chooses pink.” Belle observed herself in the silver rimmed mirror, tilting her head. Her curls fell over half her face.

“Well, you can’t wear red just yet.”

“Such a strange rule.”

“Apparently when Agape wears red, it’s only for the most auspicious occasions.” Angels’ voice turned airy as her face lit up with astonishment. Her passion for the Gods of Love was admirable and endearing without the added obsession of climbing the ladder. She respected the concept of love in its purest form. Belle needed more of that around her. “So it’s special that you wear it in specific times.”

“Will I wear it for my wedding?” A small thrill tingled through her belly mentioning her own wedding. Belle remembered all her dreams about being the splash of red amongst pink roses and falling peach blossoms in the Cherry Palace center garden.

Angel stared up at her, eyes glossed and face flushed with excitement. “It could be the most beautiful deep red dress that has a train all down the Realm.” She gestured out through the curtains.

“That’d be a bit hard to move around in.” Belle giggled as she shrugged off the pink dress until she was down to her white underdress. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Watch your left, Eros!” Laughter ensued from outside her room.

“You watch your footwork, Pragma!”

Hearing the Gods’ names being used as colloquial nicknames was a strange sound to Angel but it made Belle grin. She rushed forward through the transparent curtains to the sandstone balcony which looked over one of the smaller gardens. The ones with apple trees and the fountain.

“My lady, wait!” Angel whispered harshly.

The sleeve of Belles’ underdress slid off her shoulder but she barely thought to fix it. Angel quickly draped a silk robe over her body to keep her decent.

The two young Gods of Love, Pragma and Eros dueled each other like they were performing in a playful dance. Yoongi called Pragma by Jungkook and Eros by Taehyung. Both of them a true symbol of their role in the Realm.

Taehyung had beautiful deep tan skin, glowing like a bronze pearl and his sharpened eyes constantly brimmed with bliss over the things around him. He wore a loose silk shirt of yellow and white, half-opened to expose his soft chest while his dark brown curls fluffed and flowed like a gentle garden.

Jungkook was of milk tea skin, sweat on his neck and cheeks glistened, matting his raven hair to his forehead. His body was lithe and muscular adorned in a red and black shirt. The smile on his face had the perfect mix of mischief and pure joy. His feet moved like the genteel steps of a blossom dancer but his sword swings were the strength of a rock sentinel. Chuckles flowed from his lips at the sequence of movements, truly enjoying the activity instead of being full of anger and determination to win something.

Belle wanted to continue admiring him but a sense of her own mischief seeped through. The fountain centered this garden which the Gods did an amazing job to avoid in their flexible parries and attacks. When she noticed Jungkook nearing the fountain ready to avoid, she took a deep breath. “Having fun, my lords?!”

As expected, Jungkook lost his balance and toppled over to the fountain. His beautiful shirt splashed with water and his dampened hair from sweat completely soaked from the fountain flow. From up on the balcony, it looked like a Nymph was pouring water constantly on Jungkooks’ head.

Belle couldn’t help but laugh and Angel tried her best not to follow along.

Jungkook winced at his drenched self; almost a hint of anger on his face before he threw his head back and scoffed out a laugh.

Taehyung looked over to follow the sound and his expression softened when he recognized Belles’ face. “Agape,” he whispered with such a baritone voice that it even shocked Jungkook.

He tracked his gaze up to the sandstone balcony, decorated with pink roses and all-spice flowers. Jungkook raked his fingers through his hair, slicking it back so he could see her. Agape. The Goddess of Eternal Love. Beautiful brown curls and glowing skin against the warm sunlit sky. He couldn’t see it clearly from here but the hints of her pink irises twinkled. A smile tugged at his lips. “You got me, my lady.”

Belle smirked, leaning forward as her cheeks heated. “Be sure not to catch a cold, my lord. I’m looking forward to seeing you at the match.”

Jungkooks’ smile turned to a bright grin. “I’ll be as healthy as a God,” he mused before biting his bottom lip.

The day had come for Seokjins’ arrival. Mania: the God of Obsessive Love. This time Yoongi opted to see him personally in the council room. Kiku, the Earth Nymph Queen and his wife stood by his side despite her wish not to see this God again. In the last banquet, Seokjin had less than pleasant things to say to her and Yoongi was on the verge of announcing war. Thankfully Namjoon broke apart the fight, telling them to separate until they calm down.

Black robe train slithered across the white polished stone floor. When Yoongi remembered Seokjin, he saw a plump skinned charmer who saw the world as a trail of possibilities. Today he stood in front of a thinning man. “I thank you for welcoming me back after my horrible behaviour in the last banquet.” Seokjin spoke in his truest charm but it was changed. There was a darkness under his eyes now and his previously plump skin became sunken with age.

Yoongi attempted a smile. “It’s forgotten.”

Beetle black eyes flickered to Kiku with the same deathly sleep-deprived expression. “And Lady Earth, I offer my humblest apologies.”

Kiku nodded in response without a word. Yoongi knew it was her way to tolerating this visit without giving her true opinion.

“I’m happy to be part of this excitement.” Seokjin intertwined his long fingers together like a spiders legs uncurling.

“Both Eros and Pragma will be participating.”

“How wonderful!”

“Jimin will also be giving his famous stories as entertainment with Goddess Gaias’ illusions. I know you enjoy them.”

“My favorites are of ours.” Seokjin always had his way to maintaining the memory of their history. The two oldest Gods of Love. Family and Obsession building the Realm of Love from scratch. There was a twisted beauty about that fact.

“The servants will help you to your temporary chamber in the Palace.” Yoongi nodded to the three servants awaiting his order. “Make yourself at home.”

Seokjin bowed and turned his heel, quietly expecting the servants to scurry after him.

Yoongi glanced over at Kiku. Her entire body exuded a sense of concern and a hint of anger, green vines were twirling around her fingers to relieve her stress. He held onto her hand, her skin as soft as a cloud. A silent comfort to reassure her that it’ll all be well.

Thousands of people in the Realm of Love crowded on the wooden pavilions, waving their flags of rainbow colours representing their favourite jousters. Excitement thrummed in the air with that hint of curiosity. Who would the Goddess Agape stand next to at the end of the festival? Some of the members of the crowd were already deep into debate as to which fighter would be the most appropriate.

At the center and best view of the arena, three velvet lined seats were placed. Yoongi sat in the middle with Kiku on his left and Belle on his right. A step lower than the seats were the three non-performing gods, Namjoon, Seokjin and Hoseok, the God of Self-Love.

Once the crowd was organized and ready, Yoongi stood up. He didn’t need to move an inch before everyone delved into an attentive silence. “Welcome to our esteemed competition, good people. The rules are simple. You are to clash with your partners in a fair joust and the winner will provide a favor of their colour to the Goddess.” He gestured to Belle. “The one with the most favors will win the match.” Yoongi waved his hand. “Let the games begin.”

A wave of applause and cheer welcomed the first jousting match between Taehyung and an Earth Nymph. Their gold and silver armor glinted against the summer light. Another trail of pin-drop silence as the jousters had their lances ready. Belle kept her eyes on Eros as most of the crowd did. No one expected him to be much of a sportsman but his blooming friendship with Jungkook seemed to have influenced his new hobbies.

With a clap, the stallions galloped towards each other. In a pounding rise of suspense, they grew closer. Closer. Closer. Taehyung smashed the lance against the Earth Nymphs’ chest earning a wild applause.

He reached the other side and one of the servants gave him a white favor for his victory. Taehyung rode out to the platform where Belle sat. Keeping his half-lidded gaze, he kissed the favor and had it levitate towards the Goddess. “For you, my lady.”

Belle smiled and gently accepted the favor. She gave a short bow to acknowledge his gift.

Another series of matches continued on but what Belle truly waited for arrived around five matches later. She may have counted in her head until she saw the red flag matched with green.

Jungkook rode in his glinting obsidian armor and black stallion that had the most beautiful silver mane. He was a picture of magic. Lances at the ready, the crowd stills with anticipation. The Earth Nymph rides first and Jungkook follows suit a few seconds later. There were some murmurs that the God lost his focus in the midst of the match. They soon found out it was another reason altogether.

The sheer brute force of Jungkooks’ lance nearly cracked the Earth Nymphs’ armor and had them falling off their horse. Due to the leather straps, the Nymphs’ struggling body was still being dragged by the stallion while servants tried to get them to safety.

Belle stared at the fallen Nymph in worry, feeling a bit guilty for the sheer excitement brimming through her body at Jungkooks’ explosive victory. He brought a red favor. This time Belle stood up from her chair as the beautiful stallion closed in. Moving down the step platform with Namjoons’ help, she took a moment to caress the stallions’ head.

“For you, my lady.” Jungkook handed her the red favor.

Belle accepted it, feeling the warmth of his palm and the heat exuding from it. “My lord,” she muttered before turning on her heel. Perhaps it was too blatant of an action for her favoritism but she didn’t care.

Yoongi noticed the flushed pleasure on Belles’ face. He couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his lips and instinctively holding Kikus’ hand. A part of him remembered how the early thrills of a blossoming relationship felt like. The more Belle smiled, the more he felt grateful for this tournament.

Jungkook stayed still on the spot just watching Belle move back up to her platform. His body and soul grew too comfortable in her aura that it made him dizzy. When the Goddess sat down and faced him, he shook himself back to reality. Giving a quick bow, he rode back for the rest of the tournament.

***

Night fell into a deep blue blanket of sky and the remnants of thrill from the tournament celebrated with ale, dancing and pleasure. Jungkook had last seen Taehyung in a bedroom full of the most beautiful Nymphs and the smell of incense. With the look on his face, one could only imagine what was going on in there. He, however, was called to Seokjins’ chamber.

He knocked on the door four times and announced himself before Seokjin invited him in with a chirpy tone.

“Welcome, Jungkook!” Seokjin was about the only person other than Yoongi who could call him that. “I hope you had fun in the tournament.” He gestured for him to sit at the dining table.

“Sword fighting is more my favourite—” Jungkook relaxed on the chair, his tired muscles aching when it was finally resting. “—but I liked the favors idea.” He smiled.

“I’m sure you did.” Seokjin picked up an apple from the glass bowl and wiped it on his robe. “Keep going like this and our deal will go smoothly.”

His smile faded, fingers lightly tapping on the arm of his chair. “Do you think it’s fair? Sneaking up on the Goddess like this?”

“Don’t start getting a conscience now, my lord.” Seokjin chuckled. “When you were begging for your friends’ life, you said you’d kill the Goddess.”

Jungkook tasted something bitter on his tongue at the thought.

“Too bad that friend didn’t have your beautiful dedication to friendship.” He scrunched his nose. “Wind Nymphs, they’re a bit filmsy, aren’t they?”

Jungkook pressed his lips together, averting his gaze.

Seokjin let out a deep sigh, raising his palms. “Apologies.” The kindness of his gaze ended as soon as it started when he narrowed his gaze. The shadows cast under his eyes made him look more like a Demon than a God. “But we’re still on this deal, aren’t we?”

It wasn’t a request open for Jungkook to refuse. If he backed out of his deal then the price would be dire. Seokjin was an ancient God of Love like Yoongi. Entities like him could take a God or Nymphs’ powers, rotting their core soul into a Demon. An animalistic creature with no memory of their past self.

Jungkook was trapped the moment he thought of a deal with Seokjin. All he could do was nod and accept the betrayal he was going to perform.

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#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts gods au #jungkook gods au #fantasy au #bts fantasy #bts fantasy au #jungkook fantasy au #romance #bts romance #romance au #bts romance au #jungkook romance au #ancient greek

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clefairymuke · 3 years

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regrets | chapter ten

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairings: levi ackerman x reader / eren jaeger x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2135

You took a few steps on your own today. It was fleeting before you fell on your ass, but it was progress nonetheless. You were grateful to hear Hange's excited squeals, and Jean and Connie's brotherly encouragement, but it felt difficult to allow a smile to cross your face. Something was bothering you today.

When Jean dropped you off, you saw no sign of Levi despite the setting sun. You were alone with your thoughts for what felt like the first time in a while; six days felt so long to you for some reason, and the past month felt like at least a year. Something had been nagging at the back of your mind all day -- distracting you from your physical therapy, preventing you from laughing with your friends, allowing unneeded stress into your already overwhelmed mind.

That morning, on your way to meet Hange, you were hanging from Jean's arm as you limped through the growing grass. He was still making jokes about Levi, now calling him your boyfriend, but you entertained it. The two of you could barely get any words in between your howls of laughter, until a single pair of green eyes managed to ruin your mood completely. Eren was sat atop a wooden fence, Armin sitting crosslegged on one side of him while Mikasa stood on the other. You let your eyes dance freely over to him for a second, but that was an awful decision. He was already looking at you intently. He offered you a small smile, but you could see that his eyes were sad. You smiled back.

Even if you didn't want to be with Eren, it still hurt that he never came back to talk to you. As you stared at the ceiling above, you wondered if you were a bad person. Eren was a good guy, you thought, and you did lead him on to some extent. You wondered for a moment if you should've given it a chance, then shook your head at yourself. It would be completely unfair to him to pretend you felt something that you didn't; then again, the current situation wasn't fair to him either. You were perpetually trapped between a rock and a hard place.

You rubbed your eyes before running both hands through your hair, pulling just slightly. You found yourself, strangely enough, wishing that Levi was there. It was nice to have someone that you could talk endlessly to and yet still share long, comfortable silences. He was decent company. Your ears and face perked up as you heard the door start open, but it wasn't Levi.

"Hey, can we talk?" Eren stood timidly in the doorway awaiting your answer, his face drawn in like he was expecting a harsh "no." Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you sat up hurriedly. You were sure that your anxiety was prominent on your face.

"Yeah, of course," you answered calmly, attempting to regain your composure. Eren walked in and took a seat in Levi's chair, looking down. It reminded you of how he looked when you rejected him -- defeated, yet still attempting to maintain his pride. He opened his mouth many times before he actually began to speak, leaving you wondering if you should be the one to start this dreaded conversation.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that, and for not coming back. I --" he coughed like something was caught in his throat. "Um, sorry. This is a little bit awkward for me," he chuckled uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. "I just wanted to take a few minutes to talk about it."

"Yeah, for sure," you gulped. Your vision flitted desperately around the room for anything to latch onto besides his sad green eyes. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, you know. I didn't know you felt that way; honestly, I didn't know if I felt that way, either. I liked things the way they were. I never meant to hurt you," you told him, your racing heart beginning to beat a smidgen more slowly. You tried your best to smile at him. It likely came off as more of a frown.

He nodded slowly, his eyes still brimming with melancholy and his face still tense as stone. "I liked things the way they were, too. I shouldn't have tried to take it further; I guess I just felt like we were going somewhere. I shouldn't have left you here like that either. I just wish none of this would've ever happened," he admitted, rubbing between his glassy eyes with his right hand. "The time we spent together was always really nice, wasn't it?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you nodded. "It was." You could feel it coming before it came, a feeling of pure dread washing over you as he leaned closer toward you. You felt the smallest bit of curiosity join in, too.

"I miss you," he confessed quietly as his lips closed in on yours. When you allowed him to kiss you, you didn't expect it to be so passionate. His hand caressed your cheek so gently, and his lips slid past yours so softly. His other hand rested on your thigh, his thumb drawing circles. It all felt so -- wrong. When he pulled away, you knew without a doubt how you felt. Entertaining it would help nothing. You sighed internally, wondering how to let him down a second time.

"Eren, I don't know --" He shushed you, clearly misunderstanding your tone. He started to lean in again, and you swallowed. "Eren, I don't want this." He leaned away quickly, taking his hands away from your body to land defeatedly in his lap.

You saw a tinge of anger in his eyes before he cast them to the floor. You fidgeted awkwardly and wondered what to say next, but he beat you to it. "You're hard to read, you know. It seemed like you really wanted me -- before I said I wanted you, at least. Is that what did it? Did I move too fast?"

If there's anything you knew, it was to take an out when you had one. "Yeah, honestly. I'm not sure what would have happened if you hadn't. Regardless, though, I don't feel that way about you. I'm not sure if I would have, but honestly, probably not." It was the truth; you considered for a moment that he had you all figured out. Then again, how could he know more about you than you did? The two of you had messed around for what, a week and a half?

"Ouch." You watched his previously soft and sad face harden into anger. "I wish you wouldn't have led me on like this. I wouldn't have done anything with you if I didn't feel at least something small. You should be ashamed."

You drew in a quick breath, bordering on a gasp, as your mind raced to find a suitable reply. The hatred dripping from his voice left your mouth slightly agape, hundreds of words forming behind your tongue but never reaching past your lips. You felt small tears prick at your eyes; whether they were from sadness, anger, or shame was unknown to you.

"I think it may be time to go, Eren," you heard Levi speak from the door, two teacups in one hand and the pot in the other. How incriminating. You figured Levi thought nothing of it -- he rarely ever saw the same nuance behind certain gestures that others tended to notice, like a young, female soldier having nightly tea with her superior after being reprimanded for having sex with another scout while on duty. You hoped Eren was too angry to notice.

He wasn't. He looked up at you, eyes still full of anger but his mouth drawn up in disgust. He got up rather roughly, the chair rattling a bit as he stalked toward the door. "Thanks for the talk. Goodnight, Captain," he muttered as he left.

Levi strode in like nothing had happened, setting up the table and taking a seat, as he had done five times before. You stared at him, knowing your eyes were still widened. When he began to pour the tea, you struggled to hold in a laugh. He paused, looking over at you inquisitively. "Did I do something funny?" he asked, concerned. You watched the eyebrow lift. Always that eyebrow.

"Oh, Levi," you sighed. "You brought a tea set to my infirmary room when no one is typically here, and someone saw you. The fact that you showed up at all is incriminating."

Levi scoffed, continuing to pour the tea. "I thought something serious was happening. Not everyone has a mind like you and Jean. I doubt that it would be anyone's first thought." He set the pot down and looked back up at you. He rested his arms on either side of the cup, shaking his head.

"It was the first thought in Eren's. Didn't you see how angry he looked?" you questioned. Surely, you thought, he wasn't that oblivious.

"Sure it was. Eren's always angry. Plus, he was jealous," he said bluntly, finally taking a sip of his tea. Everything he did was so nonchalant.

It stung a little, being pulled back to your conversation with Eren. You hated how angry he was, but you figured nothing could be done. You nodded, sighing, and lifted your cup in response to him. "Yeah, he was pretty upset."

"He wasn't upset, he was pissed. He wasn't being very polite to you, and you looked like you were about to cry. How long had he been on like that?" One thing you had learned about Levi that you didn't know before is that he was incredibly curious.

"You showed up pretty much as soon as he got angry. Before that he was all sad and stuff. It took him a while to actually understand what I was trying to tell him," you told him, the tiniest bit embarrassed. Talking to Levi was easy, but not without its reservations.

"And you were trying to tell him . . .?"

"When I first got hurt, Eren came to see me. He started talking about how I meant a lot to him. I guess you could say it freaked me out. I told him I didn't feel the same way and basically broke things off," you began, one hand tugging at your hair. Levi listened intently.

"That's a valid reaction," he commented as he sipped his tea. "I would do the same."

Joke or otherwise, it drew a laugh out of you before you continued. "He stormed out, and I hadn't spoken to him since, until today. He showed up unannounced and told me he wanted to talk. I was a little embarrassed and anxious, but I didn't mind it. I didn't have any issues with him being here."

"Of course not."

"So we talked about it. I was trying to avoid hurting his feelings, but I think he completely misunderstood. I was trying to tell him that I don't feel that way about him. Instead of getting that and moving on, he goes the other route and tells me he misses me. Then he kissed me. I started to tell him that I didn't know if I was comfortable with that, but he just tried to kiss me again. He finally got it when I told him no, and that's when he got pissed off. That's when you showed up." You drank from your cup, waiting for Levi's response. It was unlikely, you thought, but maybe he had some advice.

He sat there for a moment, thinking. After a few long seconds, he set down his teacup and reached his hand out to you. The gesture was foreign, but not nearly as foreign as the feeling when his fingers brushed your knuckles and his palm came to rest on the back of your hand. None of the rest of his body moved, no leaning in or smirking lips. Just a single comforting touch. "Are you okay?" he asked as you stared conspicuously at his hand atop yours.

You nodded your head at him. "I'm fine. I just wasn't looking forward to that conversation. It didn't go nearly as well as I had hoped," you admitted, chewing the inside of your lip. "It was pretty upsetting when he spoke to me that way."

He pulled his hand away and went back to his tea, his eyes understanding. "It'll be fine. I don't think you were in the wrong, if that helps anything."

You weren't really listening, still staring down at your hand. The warmth from his hand was fading, but something else wasn't. It tingled all over, in every spot he had touched.

How strange.

#levi attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager #Eren Jaeger #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #AoT #snk x reader #snk #shingeki no kyojin #slowburn #enemies to lovers #aot fic

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aswiya · 3 years

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Zeynab Serekaniye, a Kurdish woman with a gap-toothed smile and a warm demeanor, never imagined she’d join a militia.

The 26-year-old grew up in Ras al-Ayn, a town in north-east Syria. The only girl in a family of five, she liked to fight and wear boys’ clothing. But when her brothers got to attend school and she did not, Serekaniye did not challenge the decision. She knew it was the reality for girls in the region. Ras al-Ayn, Arabic for “head of the spring”, was a green and placid place, so Serekaniye settled down to a life of farming vegetables with her mother.

That changed on 9 October 2019, days after former US president Donald Trump announced that US troops would pull out of north-east Syria, where they had allied with Kurdish-led forces for years. A newly empowered Turkey, which sees the stateless Kurds as an existential threat, and whose affiliated groups it has been at war with for decades, immediately launched an offensive on border towns held by Kurdish forces in north-east Syria, including Ras al-Ayn.

Just after 4pm that day, Serekaniye says, the bombs began to fall, followed by the dull plink and thud of mortar fire. By evening, Serekaniye and her family had fled to the desert, where they watched their town go up in smoke. “We didn’t take anything with us,” she says. “We had a small car, so how can we take our stuff and leave the people?” As they fled, she saw dead bodies in the street. She soon learned that an uncle and cousin were among them. Their house would become rubble.

After Serekaniye’s family was forced to resettle farther south, she surprised her mother in late 2020 by saying she wanted to join the Women’s Protection Units (YPJ). The all-female, Kurdish-led militia was established in 2013 not long after their male counterparts, the People’s Protection Units (YPG), ostensibly to defend their territory against numerous groups, which would come to include the Islamic State (Isis). The YPG have also been linked to systematic human rights abuses including the use of child soldiers.

Serekaniye’s mother argued against her decision, because two of her brothers were already risking their lives in the YPG.

But Serekaniye was unmoved. “We’ve been pushed outside of our land, so now we should go and defend our land,” she says. “Before, I was not thinking like this. But now I have a purpose – and a target.”

Serekaniye is one of approximately 1,000 women across Syria to have enlisted in the militia in the past two years. Many joined in anger over Turkey’s incursions, but ended up staying.

“In discussions [growing up], it was always, ‘if something happens, a man will solve it, not a woman’,” says Serekaniye. “Now women can fight and protect her society . This, I like.”

According to the YPG, a surge in recruitment has also been aided by growing pushback against and awareness of entrenched gender inequality and violence over recent years. In 2019 the Kurds’ Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria passed a series of laws to protect women, including banning polygamy, child marriages, forced marriages and so-called “honour” killings, although many of these practices continue. About a third of Asayish officers in the Kurdish security services in the region are now women and 40% female representation is required in the autonomous government. A village of only women, where female residents can live safe from violence, was built, evacuated after nearby bombings, and resettled again.

Yet evidence of the widespread violence that women continue to face is abundant at the local Mala Jin, or “women’s house”, which provide a refuge and also a form of local arbitration for women in need across Syria. Since 2014, 69 of these houses have opened, with staff helping any woman or man who come in with problems they’re facing including issues of domestic violence, sexual harassment and rape, and so-called “honour” crimes, often liaising with local courts and the female units of the Asayish intelligence agency to solve cases.

On a sun-scorched day in May, three distraught women arrive in quick succession at a Mala Jin centre in the north-eastern city of Qamishli. The first woman, who wears a heavy green abaya, tells staff that her husband has barely come home since she’s given birth. The second woman arrives with her husband in tow, demanding a divorce; her long ponytail and hands shake as she describes how he’d once beaten her until she had to get an abortion.

The third woman shuffles in pale-faced and in a loose dress, with rags wrapped around her hands. Her skin is raw pink and black from burns that cover much of her face and body. The woman describes to staff how her husband has beaten her for years and threatened to kill a member of her family if she left him. After he poured paraffin on her one day, she says, she fled his house; he then hired men to kill her brother. After her brother’s murder, she set herself on fire. “I got tired,” she says.

The Mala Jin staff, all women, tut in disapproval as she speaks. They carefully write down the details of her account, tell her they need to take photographs, and explain they plan to send the documents to the court to help secure his arrest. The woman nods then lies down on a couch in exhaustion.

Behia Murad, the director of the Qamishli Mala Jin, an older, kind-eyed woman in a pink hijab, says the Mala Jin centres have handled thousands of cases since they started, and, though both men and women come in with complaints, “always the woman is the victim”.

A growing number of women visit the Mala Jin centres. Staff say that this doesn’t represent increased violence against women in the region, but that more women are demanding equality and justice.

The YPJ is very aware of this shift and its potential as a recruitment tool. “Our aim is not to just have her hold her gun, but to be aware,” says Newroz Ahmed, general commander of the YPJ.

For Serekaniye it was not just that she got to fight, it was also the way of life the YPJ seemed to offer. Instead of working in the fields, or getting married and having children, women who join the YPJ talk about women’s rights while training to use a rocket-propelled grenade. They are discouraged, though not banned, from using phones or dating and instead are told that comradeship with other women is now the focus of their day to day lives.

Commander Ahmed, soft-spoken but with an imposing stare, estimates the female militia’s current size is about 5,000. This is the same size the YPJ was at the height of its battle against Isis in 2014 (though the media have previously reported an inflated number). If the YPJ’s continued strength is any indication, she adds, the Kurdish-led experiment is still blooming.

The number remains high despite the fact that the YPJ has lost hundreds, if not more, of its members in battle and no longer accepts married women (the pressure to both fight and raise a family is too intense, Ahmed says). The YPJ also claim it no longer accepts women under 18 after intense pressure from the UN and human rights groups to stop the use of child soldiers; although many of the women I met had joined below that age, though years ago.

Driving through north-east Syria, it is no wonder that so many women continue to join, given the ubiquitous images of smiling female shahids, or martyrs. Fallen female fighters are commemorated on colourful billboards or with statues standing proudly at roundabouts. Sprawling cemeteries are filled with shahids, lush plants and roses growing from their graves.

The fight against Turkey is one reason to maintain the YPJ, says Ahmed, who spoke from a military base in al-Hasakah, the north-east governorate where US troops returned after Joe Biden was elected. She claims that gender equality is the other. “We continue to see a lot of breaches [of law] and violations against women” in the region, she says. “We still have the battle against the mentality, and this is even harder than the military one.”

Tal Tamr, the YPJ base where Serekaniye is stationed, is a historically Christian and somewhat sleepy town. Bedouins herd sheep through fields, children walk arm-in-arm through village lanes, and slow, gathering dust storms are a regular afternoon occurrence. Yet Kurdish, US and Russian interests are all present here. Sosin Birhat, Serekaniye’s commander, says that before 2019 the YPJ base in Tal Tamr was tiny; now, with more women joining, she describes it as a full regiment.

The base is a one-storey, tan-coloured stucco building once occupied by the Syrian regime. The women grow flowers and vegetables in the rugged land at the back. They do not have a signal for their phones or power to use a fan, even in the sweltering heat, so they pass the time on their days off, away from the frontline, having water fights, chain smoking and drinking sugary coffee and tea.

Yet battle is always on their minds. Viyan Rojava, a more seasoned fighter than Serekaniye, talks of taking back Afrin. In March 2018, Turkey and the Free Syrian Army rebels it backed, launched Operation Olive Branch to capture the north-eastern district beloved for its fields of olive trees.

Since the Turkish occupation of Afrin, tens of thousands of people have been displaced – Rojava’s family among them – and more than 135 women remain missing, according to media reports and human rights groups. “If these people come here, they will do the same to us,” says Rojava, as other female fighters nod in agreement. “We will not accept that, so we will hold our weapons and stand against them.”

Serekaniye listens intently as Rojava speaks. In the five months since she joined the YPJ, Serekaniye has transformed. During military training in January, she broke a leg trying to scale a wall; now, she can easily handle her gun.

As Rojava speaks, the walkie-talkie sitting beside her crackles. The women at the base were being called to the frontline, not far from Ras al-Ayn. There is little active fighting these days, yet they maintain their positions in case of a surprise attack. Serekaniye dons her flak jacket, grabs her Kalashnikov and a belt of bullets. Then she gets into an SUV headed north, and speeds away.

By Elizabeth Flock. Additional reporting by Kamiran Sadoun and Solin Mohamed Amin.

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mentally-in-northern-italy · 4 years

Text

Wrong Idea — James Potter x reader

***not my gif***

Summary: You have a big crush on James Potter but have to live with the ‘fact’ that James is smitten with your best friend, Lily. But is this really the case, or have you just got the wrong idea?

Word count: 2.9K

A/N: Hi! Second fic, whoooo! No one really requested this but it just came to me. Again, a bit too long for my liking, but it’s okay. Any feedback is very much appreciated. Requests are open, so feel free! Enjoy!!

_________________

“He is totally staring at you, Lily,” you whisper to your friend as you stand beside her, both pretending to be overly concentrated on finding just the finest box of Chocolate Frogs that Honeydukes has to offer.

“He is not,” Lily whispers back, acting as if this prospect sounds ridiculously unbelievable but you could see her small smile as she tried her best not to glance at his direction. She continued to act as though she was very carefully examining a box of Chocolate Frogs as you chuckled quietly, trying to ignore the faint pang in your chest.

James Potter. Star Quidditch player. Self-appointed ‘mom’ of the Marauders. Personification of the very cliche, but fitting phrase, “messy hair, don’t care”. And, of course, a very famous lady’s man.

And, lastly, your ‘former’ crush who was now seemingly smitten with your best friend, Lily.

You weren’t sure when it was exactly when you had realized that you were inordinately conscious of how you looked whenever he was around, how you stole quick glances at him throughout your shared Potions class, hoping he wouldn’t notice, or how much the thought of the raven-haired boy consumed your mind. Slowly, but surely, your crush on James had developed into something so strong and overwhelming, you couldn’t even think of confiding in anyone else. Not even your best friend, Lily Evans.

When you had heard about the rumours and gossip circulating around the school, about how James was supposedly head-over-heels for a certain red-head, you had tried your very hardest to force those feelings out of you. You couldn’t have a crush on James. He liked Lily. End of story.

You felt even worse when Lily would blush mildly, her cheeks turning as red as her hair, whenever James stopped you two to talk in the middle of the hallway. How Lily would talk your ears off about how much she hated James, and how annoying and arrogant she perceived him to be, but you knew better. You knew Lily liked James too, maybe not as outwardly as James liked her, but enough to make you feel like a terrible person for liking the same guy as your best friend of five years.

And now, you couldn’t help but notice the way James’ eyes seemed to follow you two, as he stood by a shelf at the entrance of the shop, watching you both weave around the shelves stocked with sweets and treats in Honeydukes, talking quietly amongst yourselves.

“Lily, you like him, he likes you,” you try to tell her once again, ignoring how it made your heart sting a little every time you thought of them together, “why, in Merlin’s name, are you acting so oblivious?”

“[Y/N],” she scoffed, feigning offense, “I’m not acting oblivious. And I don’t like him. I just don’t… mind him.”

“Mhm,” you hummed as you picked up a cauldron cake off the shelf, “I totally believe you, Lils.”

“Believe what you want, [Y/L/N],” she retorted with a clever smile but the smile started to falter as she started to look more nervous, looking steadily at something behind you.

You turned around to look at what it was exactly that had her looking so alarmed and were just as alarmed when you saw James approaching you two, after abandoning the display he was previously taking a close look at, with a confident smile set on his handsome face.

“[Y/L/N],” he greeted as he smiled at you for a millisecond too long, sending butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, “Evans.”

“Potter,” Lily greeted him back curtly, her face set into a smile that conveyed politeness but not necessarily obvious interest.

Maybe it was your failure to repress your intense feelings for James, but you could’ve sworn that he was looking intently at you, perhaps in the hopes that you would also acknowledge him in some way. But, you didn’t trust yourself to be able to speak without melting into a stuttering mess so you stayed quiet, averting eye contact, and fidgeting with the packet of the cauldron cake in your hands.

“Did you need something, Potter?” Lily questioned, raising a single eyebrow. James’ gaze still hadn’t left you but he was forced to tear his eyes off of you to address Lily.

“Oh, no, I don’t need anything,” he remarked, regaining his confident (bordering on arrogant) composure as his eyes involuntarily shifted to you once again, “I just wanted to ask something.”

This captured your attention as your eyes jumped up from the cake in your hands to the sly smile that James was sending you and Lily. This is it, you thought, he’s going to ask her out and--

“Is there any chance, [Y/N],” James started out, sending you a sincere look, making your breath hitch in your throat, “that you could give up that Cauldron Cake?”

“Huh?” you say in surprise. Cauldron Cake?

“The one you have in your hand,” he smiled, “Uh, Padfoot, apparently, has been craving one for a few weeks and, unfortunately, that’s the last one they have. I looked all over.”

“Oh,” you said, a bit awkwardly, evidently struggling to find the right words for this unusual sort of situation, “yeah, I guess you can…”

“Y’know, I told him that’s not how cravings work,” he tried to crack a joke as you handed the cake to him, his hands slightly brushing against your own, making you weak in the knees, “but he claims I wouldn’t get it. It’s just a dog--, uh, a Sirius thing, I guess.”

He laughed an incredibly awkward laugh, while you and Lily stood there, clearly unsure of what to do. It would not be correct to say you didn’t laugh because you thought what James had just said was unfunny… no, it was more about the fact that you hadn’t understood it at all. This wasn’t like James. Sure, James’ jokes weren’t hilarious but they certainly weren’t as… dry as the one he just told. If you could even call it a ‘joke’. It sounded an awful lot like he just winged it -- came up with a half-assed joke just for the sake of coming up with one. Not a typical James Potter move, that much you knew.

Lily was watching this exchange occur with weirdly curious interest. She wasn’t sure what was happening but she also couldn’t tear her eyes away from darting back between you and James. It didn’t take her too long to get a general gist of what was going on… she was the brightest witch in her year, after all.

“Right,” you say, attempting to swiftly leave this incredibly strange conversation, “I’m afraid Lils and I should get going now. Enjoy the… cake.”

“Oh,” James looked down at the cake, as if he had entirely forgotten he had it in his hands and then back up at you, “yes. Thank you, by the way, for the cake. I’ll see you back at the common room, [Y/N]. Evans.” He nodded in Lily’s direction, while he mentally cursed himself for acting so awkward.

Before anyone could say anything else, you took a hold of Lily’s gloved hand and started to lead her towards the exit of the shop, ignoring whatever it was she was saying to you. You shook your head a little as ridiculous thoughts started flooding your brain. Why did he use my first name and not Lily’s? Am I reading into this too much? Am I going crazy?

You had decided that the latter two were more likely to be the case when the corner of your eye caught an entire shelf in front of the entrance of the shop, stocked with Cauldron Cakes. And the display wasn’t too far away from where James originally stood. In fact, that’s the very display he was checking out when you had noticed him staring.

________________

You groaned as Marlene and Lily dragged you out of the dorm room, against your will, mind you, insisting that it was absolutely crucial that you abandon your History of Magic of homework and follow them.

“We have a test coming up!” you tried to reason with them, “Lily, Mar, come on, we should be studying!”

“Studying can wait, [Y/N],” Marlene said to you, matter-of-factly, “Quidditch cannot.”

They dragged you by the arm, through the Gryffindor common room, to the Quidditch game, which was just about to start. Today was a big day; the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff.

You, of course, knew what this meant.

James Potter. Flying around on his broom. Being a brilliant chaser.

You had never been a particular fan of the game, but when you had started liking James, you found yourself going to the Quidditch pitch quite often. That is, until you deemed your feelings for James to be forbidden. Now, Quidditch games were just about the same as rubbing salt to your, very deep, wounds.

The way he would look over at Lily, who stood right beside you, and wink at her made you angry. And not angry at Lily or James, but angry at yourself. All the glances he would send her way only made you get mad at yourself for ever feeling this way about someone who was so far out of your reach.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Lily said as you snapped out of your thoughts, leading you through the hallways in the direction of the Gryffindor stands.

“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath, with a twinge of sadness, making sure she wouldn’t hear, “for you.”

_______________

Gryffindor had won the match. Hufflepuff played exceptionally well, but it was no match for the Gryffindor’s brilliant offensive tactics.

As the Gryffindor seeker had caught the snitch, the cheering in the stands rang out. You, Lily and Marlene jumped up, screaming and clapping, overjoyed at this brilliant win.

“Come on,” Marlene said excitedly, “let’s go down to the pitch!”

“What?” you asked, alarmed. You did not want to be in close proximity to James right now. Not when his jersey would be clinging onto his body and his hair would be all sweaty and his face all red, making him look even more hands-

“Yes! Let’s go,” Lily agreed instantly, dragging you by the arm.

You groaned once again but you knew they wouldn’t listen. As you three, no, as you two were walking down, -- Marlene was practically skipping -- thoughts of the Quidditch match in action flooded your mind. James sent so many winks and smirks in Lily’s direction that you could’ve sworn by Merlin that some of them were to you. Or this was just wishful thinking. After all, Lily was sitting right beside you. You decide that this is just you getting confused -- but then again, why did Lily always glance your way after James smiled at you, as he scored a goal, expecting you to react in some way? And why did she look genuinely pleased, instead of having even the hint of jealousy in her eyes?

There’s nothing for her to be jealous about, you told yourself repeatedly, he was looking at Lily.

As you three reached the Quidditch pitch, you could see clumps of students, crowding the Quidditch players, congratulating them excitedly.

“Lily, I came to the match,” you tried to whisper to her as you two stood there, unsure of where to go, “can I please go study now?”

“No, [Y/N] [Y/L/N]!” providing special emphasis on your full name, yelling loudly, capturing the attention of everyone on the pitch. Everyone’s head turned to look at you as you seemed to shrink into yourself and Lily wore a proud smile on her face, looking at you slyly.

The mention of your full name had attracted a lot of unwanted attention. But it also, almost immediately, seemed to attract some wanted attention as well.

Well, not wanted, that wasn’t allowed as per your rules, but appreciated, nonetheless.

James’ head turned to you as he diverted his attention from some excited first-years to you and Lily. Your eyes had widened remarkably, your face had started to heat up and the butterflies in your stomach who had seemed to be asleep previously, had now woken up.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Lily said quickly, “Thomas Lee looks dashing, I’m going to go tell him congratulations!” And with that, she walked away from you and towards Lee, the Gryffindor keeper.

James had started walking over to you as you stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Do you meet him halfway? Do you keep standing there? Merlin, why did this have to be so difficult?

“[Y/N], so glad you could make it,” he smirked at you as he pushed his sweaty hair back.

“Uh, yeah, congratulations,” you said, trying to keep yourself from looking at his figure, “you played really well.”

“Thanks!” said James, with, what looked like, genuine gratefulness, before the look in his eyes turned cocky again, “Although, I’ve played better. This game was a piece of cake.”

“Of course,” you couldn’t help but smile softly at his words. This is the James you knew. The James you liked. The James you shouldn’t like.

“Speaking of cake!” he exclaimed suddenly, trying to salvage this conversation from turning awkward, “Thanks again for that cauldron cake! I was so bummed when I found they had run out.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” you told him politely, when you remembered something.

They hadn’t run out of cauldron cakes. In fact, they had them all piled up on the shelf right in front of the entrance. Before you could say anything, James started speaking again.

“Y’know, there’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up,” he started out confidently, but the slight shaking of his hands and the easy-to-miss quiver in his voice indicated otherwise.

“Yes, I know,” you told him, quietly. Was he telling you to ask Lily for him? Godric knows you would never be able to do that. “Lily knows too, so… you can ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“What?” he looked very surprised, his eyebrows had furrowed as if he had no idea why you had mentioned that.

“The Hogsmeade trip. You should ask her. She might seem like she would say no but she’ll say yes.” You ignored the feeling of your heart sinking.

“But, I don’t want to.” he said with a slight shake of his head.

“What?”

“I wanted to ask you.” his voice had gotten unusually quiet.

You were in absolute shock, to say the least. James Potter wanted to ask you? To Hogsmeade? What about Lily?

“What about Lily?” you asked, confusedly, “I thought-- everyone thought--”

“I like you, not Evans,” he told you with no hesitation, “who said I liked her?”

“Literally everyone thinks so.”

“Well, they must have gotten the wrong idea.”

“But--”

“[Y/N], for someone so bloody smart, you are incredibly oblivious,” James said, with the slightest bit of his irritation showing through, “Didn’t you see me staring at you? Winking? For Merlin’s sake, there wasn’t a shortage of Cauldron Cakes back at Honeydukes! I just wanted to talk to you.”

“But you were staring at Lily,” you say defensively, “not me. Why would you do that?”

“Because… I like you?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!”

You shook your head in frustration. You couldn’t do this to Lily. This is not what best friends do. No, there is no way you would act on these feelings.

“Lily!” you turn away from James and make your way over to Lily, “we need to go.”

You drag Lily away from Lee and start making your way off the pitch, leaving Lee and James staring at you both in confusion.

“So, did you say yes?” she asked you as you tried to walk as fast as you could without making it seem like you’re running away.

“What?” you turn to her.

“To James? He asked you out, didn’t he?” she asked eagerly. You were surprised to see she wasn’t sad. At all. In fact, she seemed happy for you.

“But you like James,” you tried to tell her, trying to work this whole situation out, standing only a few feet away from James and Lee, who were watching this interaction intently. Didn’t she?

“I thought I did,” she told you, “but I think I only convinced myself that I did, because I thought he liked me. To be honest, I really don’t. And all those times you tried to tell me he was staring at me? It was always you, [Y/N], I just happened to be standing right beside you every time.”

“But, I--,” you struggled to find words.

“Look,” Lily said as she put a hand to your shoulder, “I know you like him. I also know he likes you. Why, in Merlin’s name, are you acting so oblivious?” she said, imitating your words from that trip to Honeydukes.

“You really don’t like him?” you asked, unsure of what you wanted the answer to be. On one hand, you would love to go out with James, on the other, you never wanted to hurt Lily’s feelings.

“No! Not even one bit,” she reassured you, “I’m a bit relieved, really, plus, I think I’ve found myself a keeper.” She turned away from you to face Lee, still stood a few feet away from you two, and smiled. Lee winked back. You laughed at this and reluctantly turned your head to James, also stood a few feet away from you. He stood with his confidence a little diminished, looking defeated. But he still gave you a small smile and waved awkwardly.

“Go! Say yes,” Lily told you, chuckling, “We can even go on double dates together.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at Lily before you took a deep breath in and started to make your way towards him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Um.”

“Let’s start over,” you told him as you straightened your posture and fixed your hair.

“Start over?” he asked, regaining the arrogance.

“Ask me out again, Potter,” you told him, having found confidence yourself after your talk with Lily. You no longer felt bad about liking James. And you felt even better knowing he liked you.

“Oh, yes!” James plastered his smirk back on his face, “There's a Hogsmeade trip coming up, [Y/N].”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you nodded and smiled, stifling giggles from erupting.

“Let’s go together.” he said cockily, his eyes twinkling.

“That was pathetic, James,” you said as you started to laugh softly.

“Hey!”

“But yes. Let’s,” you told him with a mischievous smile, “Maybe this time, I can help you find the very noticeable, hard-to-miss Cauldron Cake display.”

“Deal.” He sent you his infamous James Potter grin at which you grinned back.

#james #jamespotter #jamesxreader #james potter x reader #james x reader #james potter #james x you #james potter x you #james potter imagine #harry potter #harrypotter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshots

1K notes · View notes

harryspet · 4 years

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plaything | sebastian stan

[Warnings] dark sebastian stan x reader, dark chris evans x reader, lots of dub con bordering on non con, spanking (aftercare?), dub con sex/oral sex, humiliation, seb wants you to call him daddy, impregnation, over/stimulation, abusive relationship, seb domesticating reader, manipulation, seb being a jerk and chris being creepy

A/N: This is for @sherrybaby14 ‘s Prompt Challenge! If you’re not already following her, please do! The original prompt was “ Bucky fic where the relationship is already well known to be dark. Maybe he views her as a plaything and likes to do things that set her up for failure so that he can punish her. Maybe some gas/lighting too”. I’ve been watching a lot of Sebastian interviews lately so this fic was inspired by that. I know both Sebastian and Chris a super nice guys in real life but I had a lot of fun imagining them as bad guys!

In which you can’t seem to escape Sebastian’s punishments.

Please like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3.1k

You watched Sebastian on the TV in your kitchen, licking a spoon covered in fudge batter. He was being interviewed by Jimmy Kimmel and he was as captivating as ever. You chuckled a bit as he made a joke and the crowd erupted in laughter.

“Y/N, it’s not lady-like to lick the spoon,” Delilah, Sebastian’s chef, said to you. You were in the middle of yet another cooking lesson. You just could never get your food tasting the way Seb liked, “At this rate, I don’t think I’ll be getting fired anytime soon.”

The dessert was in the oven and now the older woman was placing the finishing garnishes on their steak, “He likes his steak medium-well, remember that,” Delilah went on but you couldn’t concentrate.

You know you should’ve paid attention but you knew deep down you’d never be a good cook. At least, not in the way Seb wanted you to be, “You don’t think he’ll notice it’s microwaved?” You asked Delilah who had previously agreed to your scamming. You’d pretend that you made what she had.

“He shouldn’t notice because my food is delicious either way. But, it may taste a little different and you can blame that on the fact that you made it,” You nodded nervously.

“Thank you, Delilah,” The older woman only smiled as she began to gather her things. Everything was laid out and now you could put everything in Tupperware and microwave it tomorrow before Seb arrived.

You put your oven mitts on and walked over to the oven. You lifted the pan of brownies out of the oven and set it on the stove. The interview on the TV was ending now and you watched as Jimmy told the audience the opening date for Seb’s new movie.

Seb hadn’t been back to your million dollar apartment in two weeks because he was doing press all day and night.

You almost didn’t hear Delilah say from the foyer, “Mr. Stan, you’re home early,” Your heart dropped.

“Delilah,” You were sure they were hugging now, “I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you for a while. You look as beautiful as ever.”

You quickly put away all the spices and cutting boards, just throwing them in a random cabinet. And then the plates of food … you stacked them and threw them into the garbage can. You panicked, he couldn’t know that Delilah had made the food after you promised you’d do better.

“Well … I- oh look, my husband is calling me,” Delilah rushed out, “Have a good evening, Mr. Stan!”

When Sebastian entered the kitchen, you were smiling wide, a dash of flour on your cheek and apron that you had just put there, “I thought you were going to be in L.A. for the rest of the night,” You said to him, kissing his cheek as he approached you. He didn’t return the affection, his eyes tired from his flight. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, “I just watched you on TV … you did great.”

“I finished up earlier than I thought. I wanted to see you,” He looked down at you, his eyes burning holes into you. He knew something was up.

“You look exhausted but I know what will wake you up. Your favorite midnight brownies! Because, you know, we usually eat them at midnight-” He took one look at the brownies and turned back to you.

“Why was Delilah here?” He interrupted, reaching a hand to wipe away the flour on your cheek.

Your smile fell, “S-She came to give me the recipe for the brownies,” He didn’t believe it and you bit down nervously on your bottom lip nervously, “I asked Delilah to make dinner and I was gonna pretend that I had made it myself.”

Seb sighed, a smirk tugging at his lips, “And where’s dinner now?”

You pointed towards the trash can, “And you wasted the food too?”

“I panicked,” You tried to explain yourself, “But I’m gonna make dinner for real tomorrow. I watched Delilah do everything so-”

You yelped as he suddenly grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. His breath fanned over your face and then he leaned down to your ear, “You haven’t cleaned either, there’s dust on the painting in the foyer.”

“I-I was going to do it tomorrow before you got home,” You whispered, your heart pounding.

“Do I ask for too much, Y/N? I’m not sure why you like frustrating me.”

“I-I don’t like frustrating you, Seb.”

“You do,” He insisted, “Why else would you throw schemes like this together?”

“I-” He shushed you and you swallowed your words. The look in his eyes was crazy and you weren’t sure what kind of beast you had awoken this time. You tried to remember a time when things weren’t like this. When he chased you and you thought you might be more than his plaything.

You met Sebastian at one of his interviews. Of course, you didn’t expect him to spare you a second glance because he was the celebrity and you were the girl running to get everyone's coffee. You were practically an assistant to the assistants. You only did the job because it paid slightly more than minimum wage and you were late on your rent.

You carried three different trays of coffee into the dressing room. It was a smaller production company then he was probably used to. There were at least three other Avengers in the room getting their makeup touched up. You handed the coffees to each of their assistants and then to your boss.

You would’ve walked away but you saw him take a sip, his eyes still narrowed on you, “This is four sugars …”

“Yes,” You said quickly, looking over the receipt. Your face visibly fell as you read it, “Well, it’s three but I can find you some sugar, sir. It’ll only take a moment.”

“You can’t seem to get anything right on the first try, can you? I order this drink a million times a week. The other coffee girls can get it right. Why can’t you?”

You took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right because you’re-” You closed your eyes and waited for him to say you were fired. A tall figure emerged behind you and you slowly opened your eyes.

“I’m sure one sugar isn’t the end of the world, sir,” Seb had said, a hand pressed to your lower back, “If you’re going to treat your staff so poorly, in front of everyone I have to had, then maybe Marvel shouldn’t be giving you their business.”

Your boss was practically jumping out of his skin, “I-I apologize, Mr. Stan,”

As your boss scurried off like a mouse, he stepped in front of you, “I’m Sebastian.”

“I work such long hours, I have to fly around the world, but I take care of you, don’t I?” You nodded vigorously, “I just … don’t like to be lied to. You know what this means, don’t you, pet?”

Pet.

He loved to call you that when his temper got the best of him. Yes, of course, you knew, “Sebastian, not tonight, please-”

He forced you to look into his eyes, “But I know you like it, Y/N,” With his other hand he gripped your waist, pulling up your skirt. You never seemed to avoid it. There was always something you did wrong that led to this.

He pressed his lips to yours and you were surprised how gentle he was. Your lips moved in sync with each other as he pressed you against the kitchen island. He was untying your apron and it fell to the ground. Then he was reaching into your panties, easily finding how wet you were, “That’s my girl,” He smirked against your lips, starting to rub circles over your sensitive bulb.

You ground against his fingers, wanting more friction between you. He kissed the side of your mouth, then your chin and down to your neck, “Ah,” you moaned as he played you like a piano, a song that he had spent the last year memorizing, “Seb, Seb …”

“Call me Daddy,” He demanded and you moaned as you neared your climax.

“Oh my god, Daddy,” You were about to tilt your head back when he suddenly removed his fingers. Not in a teasing way and your eyes widened you realized he wasn’t in a playing mood. He grabbed your hips roughly and turned you around. He pressed on your back until your chest was against the marble, “Only good girls get to cum, Y/N,” You felt him walk away and you didn’t dare look back at him, You heard a drawer open and slam shut.

He lifted your skirt and as he pulled down your underwear, you closed your eyes shut. The impact didn’t come as you expected. You thought it stung much more than when he used his hand. You whimpered, your hands balled into a fist, “You remember what to say, don’t you, pet? I’m giving you twenty and I’m sure you don’t want any extra.”

“Thank you, Daddy!”

He’d rub a circle and then hit your bottom with the wooden spoon again. You thanked him for each one. As the spanks increased, you squirmed around and Sebastian decided to pin your arms behind your back to hold you in place.

When he was done, tears were streaming down your face, “Good girl, Y/N. Very good,” Sebastian let go of your wrist, gently helping you up before lifting you into his arms. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he carried you out of the kitchen.

You cried as he set you on the bed you shared and as he rubbed aloe vera over your bruises. Sebastian held you, placing a kiss on your forehead, as you cried yourself to sleep.

You thought your punishment was over but as you exited the shower the next morning, you found a surprise waiting for you on the bed. A “surprise” was probably the wrong word to use. You picked up the pair of black stilettos and set them by your feet before picking up the note.

Wear this. No panties. Finish cleaning the house and then come meet me in my office. My bookshelves need dusting. - Your one and only love, Sebastian

You balled up the note, tossing it to the side, as you took a deep breath. You decided that he wasn’t going to break you down this time. You dressed in the black, satin, mini dress and your mouth dropped open as you realized it ended an inch after your bottom. The top was basically a corset that pushes your chest up and the clear straps that held them up were flimsy. A matching white apron accompanied everything but even that seemed to be mini-sized. You could barely get on the heels without your whole bottom showing.

You gritted your teeth, pacing the room, as you tried to get used to the heels. You reminded yourself again that you’d do this with a smile on your face. You pulled your hair back with a tie and left the master bedroom.

You cleaned almost the entire house with those heels on. Your feet ached and every random draft of wind sent you shivering. If you moved in a certain way, you could feel the satin rubbing against the bruises on your bottom, a reminder of the punishment you suffered the day before.

You wiped a drop of sweat from your forehead as you finished wiping down the kitchen counters. After you carried the duster to Seb’s office and as you knocked you heard, “Come in, pet,” And you spotted Seb leaning against the front of his desk.

His eyes were dark and as you met Captain America’s blue-green eyes, your heart dropped to your stomach, “Seb-”

“You know Chris, right, Y/N? You met at that wedding a few months ago?” Sebastian asked, gesturing over the muscular man perched on Seb’s leather couch.

You remained silent, not wanting to meet the other man’s eyes. You shifted uncomfortably in your dress, pulling at the sides, “Y/N looked very different then … but I have to say that I prefer this look much more,” You could feel his eyes taking in your body.

You had promised yourself you’d get through this unscathed but you hadn’t planned for this. You wanted to die of embarrassment and it was only as Seb said, “Don’t mind us, pet. We’re just talking business. You have a job to do.”

Your mouth was dry and you felt frozen, “Sebastian, please-”

You cut yourself off because the glare he gave you was deadly. It took you a moment to get the courage to take a step. Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you paced over the tall bookshelves that were placed opposite the couch Chris Evans was sitting on.

You began to dust his collection of books and you cursed the fact that man loved reading about space so much.

Both of their eyes were raked in your body. They muttered a few sentences talking about some director but you knew they were just trying to fill the air. Their focus was you and only you.

You reached the lower levels but as you had to reach the top one, your dress rode up. You quickly pulled it down but it happened a few more times, “I don’t think you’ll do a very good job if you’re pulling at your dress the whole time, pet,” You almost shot an accusing glance towards him.

Instead, you stopped holding onto your dress before politely saying, “I don’t think I’m tall enough to reach the top shelves,” You spoke through gritted teeth.

Seb glared at you sharply but Chris only smirked, “You might’ve hit the lottery with this one, Stan.”

In any other context, you might’ve appreciated the compliment.

“The coffee table is a little dusty too,” Sebastian lied and you tried to scowl. You walked over to the coffee table, bending down to dust the table. You were close to Chris now and you saw him lean forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Chris had told you and you did, keeping eye contact as you dusted all the knick-knacks that Seb kept on the coffee table. Yours were on him but he was trailing down to your chest. You guessed he had seen enough of your bottom while you were dusting.

You stood up straight then looked at Seb, “Did he tell you to stop looking at him?” And you winced as you turned your head back to Chris.

Seb moved behind you but you couldn’t take your eyes off of Chris. Seb pressed himself against your back, lifted up the skirt of your mini dress. He roughly stuck his fingers between your fold and his fingers were wet as he pulled them away. How? How could that happen when you felt sick with embarrassment.

Your face was probably bright red by that point, “And I thought you couldn’t upset me further. Now you’re getting turned on by another man. Right in front of me, I should add.”

“S-Seb I-I-” He grabbed you by the front of your neck, pulling you further into him, “I-I’m not, I promise!”

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You love the attention. Does Daddy not give you enough?” He spoke huskily into your ear, “Now you have to show Daddy’s friend who you belong to. Bend over, hands on the table.”

As you bent over, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had become so drastically different. You placed your hands flat on the table and it wasn’t long before you heard Sebastian’s belt come off. You thought he might spank you at first but you felt the hard tip of his length press against your entrance.

He grabbed your hair, forcing you to tilt your head up and look at Chris. He was leaning back now, his hand over his crotch. You could see the hard on beginning to form underneath his jeans, “Only Daddy gets this hole, understand?” And before you could answer, he entered you all the way.

You gasped, unable to find the words as you screamed out. “Right, pet?” He slammed into you deeply.

You nodded, “Y-Yes, Daddy. Only you.” Seb pounded into you, animalistic growls in his throat as you squeezed around him.

Soon, you had both fallen to your knees but he only went harder, “Seb, Seb!” You moaned his name, already nearing your climax. The angle you were at let him hit your most sensitive area with every thrust. And as he bent over your body, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bulb, it wasn’t long before that wave of pleasure ripped through you.

Your body shook and you tried to run away from the full force of it, Sebastian pulled you back onto him. He wasn’t done yet. Chris had pulled his hard member from his jeans and was stroking it as he watched you react to the over/stimulation. Seb had even pulled down your dress so your breasts were fully out.

Seb didn’t let up on stroking you and, as your second climax came, you thought you might fall apart. “You like it when he watches, don’t you?” Seb groaned in your ear, “You want him to see me put a baby in you.” Seb’s stroke slowed but they were still deep as his song neared its crescendo.

Seb knew that you were in the middle of switching your birth control methods.

“Beg me to put a baby into you,” He said, pulling your hair tighter.

“Ah,” you moaned, “Please give me a baby, Daddy! Please!”

With that, Seb’s hips tightened as he released into you. You felt the warmth deep inside you and you were still shaking as he pulled out, “Good girl,” He said, out of breath.

You looked at Chris who was thrusting into his own hand. Seb smacked your bottom loudly, “Finish him off, Y/N,” You turned to Seb with wide eyes. As if he hadn’t humiliated you enough. He hit your bottom again, “Now.”

You hesitated before crawling around the table. You felt your own fluids and Seb’s running down your leg. You perched yourself between the older man’s legs and he responded by grabbing your face, pulling you up to his member.

You closed your eyes as you took him into your mouth. Chris groaned, leaning back as you took him in deeper. You remembered how Seb liked it. Whatever your mouth couldn’t cover, you used hand, twisting around his length, “That’s it, such a good girl,” You gagged as you took him in further. Sebastian loved when you gagged and now you knew Chris did too. As Chris finished, he forced your head down, and you thought you might run out of air as he released into your throat.

You fell back, gasping after you were forced to swallow it all, “I think I’m going to come to New York more often,” Chris gave you a tired smile.

You looked to Sebastian who was already up, buttoning his slacks, “Straighten yourself up, Y/N, don’t be rude to our guest.”

Hope you enjoyed! Check out my dark peter parker fics and my new Bucky fic called Obedience!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #dark marvel #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #dark fic #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark sebastian stan x reader #mcu smut #marvel smut

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dancingwiththeplanets · 3 years

Text

An Angel Amongst Demons - chapter two

Boba Fett x fem!reader

chapter 1 / masterlist

Summary: A few days after the incident in the throne room, Boba hovers around you like a shadow worried you’ll leave him. You try to reassure him through small, intimate moments with him that there’s no place you’d rather be.

A/N: Really trying to expand on the idea that a gorgeous palace lays hidden underground/ behind the throne room! Also, I think we can all start calling this Boba’s Palace now, jabba is gone. Sorry for the low quality edit it’s my first one haha

Warnings: dancing!boba, protective!boba, suggestive content, plain old day at the palace, soft!boba, not a lot of content tbh but cute moments and we get to know our OC Mandos Raul and Enzo, I didn’t plan this out, im sorry

Word Count: 4.5k+

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The ballroom, though practically useless in its existence and never actually having served its purpose, has recently become one of your favorite rooms in the palace. Initially, you didn’t know what to do with the space. It’s not like Boba seized at the idea of throwing a ball and inviting a group of strangers into the palace, providing anyone the opportunity to discover the secrets hidden behind the throne room. Let alone risk letting an adversary sneak their way in and stirring up trouble.

Nonetheless, you’ve taken it upon yourself to spruce the place up. It is, after all, one of the grander rooms in the castle, with paintings coating the ceiling and the walls bordered with columns.

It’s actually extremely beautiful, you’ve decided, wiping your forehead against your light-blue sleeve, frowning when it comes back brown from the dust that’s stuck to your face. It seemed like a sensible thing to wear this morning. A loose fitting blue blouse with flowy pants to match, secured in the middle by a slightly darker sash. Your pant legs were tucked into your boots so as not to get in the way. It was one of the more cozy and plain things you owned, though not poor in quality by any standards. The fabric was refined, flowy and soft against your skin. Quite honestly, even in your working clothes, you looked nicer than you felt you deserved to. But far be it for Boba to allow his princess to wander around in anything but the best.

The week you’d moved in was a busy one, filled with surprises and adjustments that were quite honestly overwhelming. You arrived at Boba’s palace with a literal sack over your shoulder, enough to stash your small wardrobe of two garments and a few trinkets of personal value. Tatooine was a simple place, you only owned what you absolutely needed. And you, being a young and simple waitress at the local cantina, could barely make enough to cover your cost of living. You were never awarded the luxury of having needless objects.

The first few days of your arrival, Boba had stuck to your side like glue, making sure you got around okay and had everything you needed. Initially, he’d even had a seperate room made up for you to stay in. It was absolutely beautiful, by far the lightest room in the entire palace, though lacking in a window. It was one of the biggest, not as impressive as his own chambers, but still spacious. He decorated the room with paintings and furniture and accented the space with hues of blue and gold. Unfortunately, the pretty room barely got any good use out of it.

Boba escorted you to your quarters on your first night, cradling your chin and kissing your forehead at the door, bidding you goodnight. He reminded you where you could find something to sleep in, having delighted himself in surprising you with an entirely new wardrobe.

You pulled on a satin, lavender slip, admiring the foreign material for a long while as it weighed so delicately on your form. You took your time readying yourself for bed before crawling in and feeling engulfed by pillows. Once you settled, left alone to your anxious thoughts and feelings, you suddenly felt overwhelmed by the exquisite room embracing you. A flutter of giddiness and exhilaration filled you, your mind and body enraptured by the day's events. You felt absolutely spoiled.

Feeling bold on an entirely unnatural level, you slipped away from the warm, velvety comforter and tiptoed to the door. With a rush of courage, your hand met the handle and you stepped out, bare feet cold against the tile floor. You peeked around before quickly darting down the hall, forever grateful that not a soul was around to see your practically naked form running by, before ascending the stairs that led to Boba’s door.

You lifted your hand, your knuckle knocking gently three times against the rough surface.

You heard Boba shifting on the other side of the door, tugging down on your nightgown that just barely cleared your thighs. The hinges of the door creaked as they turned, opening slowly to reveal a very smug looking Boba in just his underclothes.

He hummed, eyes tracing over your form with a shake of his head. “Wandering the halls looking like that.” He chided, gently grabbing you by the waist and pulling you through the door, “That’ll get you into trouble, little one.”

-----------------------------

You smile as you recall the memory. Suffice to say, you didn’t end up sleeping in your own quarters that night, or any night after that, for that matter. Though Boba’s honorable gesture in providing you with your own space was not lost on you.

Continuing on with your endeavors, you move to stand from your crouch on the ground, simultaneously trying to tighten the blue sash wrapped around your middle. You gasp as you run into a hard surface, exhaling in relief as Boba braces you in front of him.

Mumbling an apology, you watch as his helmeted face looks you up and down, steady hands holding you out from him.

“What?” You ask, a smile making its way to your cheeks.

“Your outfit, it...looks like something I wore as I boy.” He says adoringly, now fondling the blue sash at your hips.

You glance down again at your form, a matching blue blouse and trousers tucked into simple black boots. “I...look like you as a young boy?” You counter, earning a deep chuckle from your lover.

“Well I looked rather plain in it,” He says, “I don’t think I looked half as radiant as you do.”

“So you do like it?” You ask.

“Of course I like it,” He grins, “I bought it.”

You shake your head as you carry on with your tasks, allowing Boba to shadow your movements for a while before leaving you again to carry on with his own agenda.

You spend the next few hours actively scrubbing away at the room, feeling especially motivated to complete it, not like all the other half-finished rooms scattered about the palace, which is partly your fault. But the ballroom felt different, once you dusted away all the grime and filth and replaced the lighting in the ceilings to give the room more life, it really started to come together. Unfortunately, your previously clean clothes and skin were paying the price for the hard work being done, you definitely looked a little worse for wear. Wisps of hair beginning to tickle your cheeks from where they’d fallen loose from your braid.

Currently, you were taking extra care to polish a beautiful mosaic decorating the inside of an archway. Thousands of small, colorful shards lined neatly together to form the image of a bold Tatooine sunset. One of the few grand beauties your home planet was known for. A surprisingly lovely work of art left behind, albeit not properly cared for, by the previous inhabitants of the palace.

You admire the artwork for a while after polishing it to near perfection, letting your bum fall to the floor and legs splay out comfortably in front of you. Your wrists support your upper body, arms holding you up as you lean back onto them, head tilting lazily to one side.

You find yourself distracted from your glossed over gaze by Boba, who seems to have wandered his way in here for the third time today. Enzo tails him a few paces behind, but stops to stand guard idly by the door. You can’t imagine he or Raul feel as though they serve any real purpose wandering these empty halls, probably much preferring when they get to patrol the throne room or secure the perimeter.

Boba approaches you, pausing over your fatigued form and huffing out a laugh when you don’t move to stand, instead opting to gaze up at him with tired, doe eyes. He holds a hand out to you and you groan, placing your palm in his as he hoists you up.

“The room looks lovely.” He says, voice raspy through the modulator as he looks around.

The praise makes you smile. “Come see what I found,” You say, leading him by the hand. You open a large dresser to the right, stuffed full of old vinyls and a polished record player sitting proudly atop. You carefully choose a record, placing it beneath the needle and starting the track, allowing it to play soothingly in the background as you guide him around the rest of the room.

He follows you around, listening to you babble about the lovely art on the ceiling and how nice the light looks coming through the one, boxy window at the top. He watches the childlike sparkle and admiration in your eyes as you point out different things you’ve noticed, the excitement trickling out in your tone.

His mind contemplates how different this life is from the one you used to have. You went from a one room, compact home, just barely big enough for your small bed, to a palace filled with grand staircases, hallways and countless bedrooms, a blissful dream in your eyes. Nevermind the fact that you were still stuck on Tatooine. In fact, you seemed happy to stay, oddly attached to the sandy planet, something Boba found amusing.

A couple trips around the room later, and a few songs having gone by, the two of you now stand in the center of the empty room. Him, groaning in protest, and you, placing his hand on your waist yet again. You’ve spent the last few minutes trying to teach him a basic waltz, something your father had taught you when you were little. A rare memory you shared with him before he...well-

“Boba,” You scold with a giggle, “Try again.” Your request earns you another frustrated grumble from your partner. At some point you were able to coerce him into dancing with you, having pleaded desperately when your favorite classic came on. “C’mon, you nearly had it that time!”

He sighs loudly, tilting his helmet in an exasperated fashion. “Last time,” He says with finality, his finger raised in your direction.

You nod your head, an amused grin spread wide on your face.

He holds tight to your waist and reaches for your other hand, a final effort to humor you.

“And...1, 2, 3...1, 2, 3..” You begin moving again to the music, trying to swallow the snicker working its way up at the image of your armored partner staring at your feet for guidance. Visor following your every move, looking unsure and sloppy and quite honestly graceless.

You jump at the voice of a forgotten presence in the room.

“No! No, no, no, boss.” Enzo finally pipes up, his silent and judgemental self unable to be contained any longer. He moves forward with a swagger in his step as he struts towards you from his previous position against the wall, “You’ve gotta lead her by the waist,” He says pointedly, reaching for you “Observe-”

Boba’s arm shoots out, blocking Enzo by the pauldron, “You touch her, you're a dead man.” He growls, deflecting his attempt to take you by the waist.

You jerk slightly at the interaction, rolling your eyes and waiting for the show of dominance to subside.

Enzo’s hands raise in surrender, bowing away respectfully before returning to his earlier stance, no doubt a grin slapped on beneath his visor.

Boba’s hand returns to your waist with a shake of his head, noting your half-suppressed chuckle, evidently amused by the encounter.

“Alright,” He grunts, “once more.”

You start counting aloud, moving at a pace Boba can keep up with. You step out on the final eight count and slowly twirl back into his arms, your back now braced against his front. He tugs at your hips, holding you closer, “Mm,” He hums in your ear as you sway in your position, “Well I do like this.”

The sound of his accented voice filtering through the modulator sends a shiver down your spine, and you breathe out a light exhale as he releases you a moment later, turning you to face him.

“See,” You sigh, “You can dance.”

He hums in response, turning around to retrieve his weapon.

You move to face your hired gun, again leaning casually against the entryway.

“Do you actually know how to dance, Enzo?” You ask, reflecting on his earlier attempt at an intervention.

“-Wouldn’t matter if he did.” Boba interjects loudly over his shoulder, dismissing any ideas before they transpired.

You hear a light chuckle emitting through Enzo’s modulator, turning back to see his stance remaining motionless aside from the slight jerk in his shoulders.

Boba returns to your side, tapping his forehead against yours in an obvious farewell.

Your head falls heavily to one side as you tenderly hold one of his gloved hands, fingers tracing the rough fabric of his own. “Is that all the time you’ve allotted for me today, my king?” You say, a teasing smile pulling at your lips.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid.” He replies, “But perhaps I’ll come find you in a bit, see what further progress you’ve made.”

You nod, a slight frown tugging on your lips. You hesitate raising the concern suddenly weighing in your mind.

Ever since the incident with Crane occurred, Boba’s been...watchful. It’s not that he wasn’t protective of you before, it’s just that in the past few days he’s been protective of you in an entirely different way. He’s been hovering and checking in on you almost compulsively. Whereas before he seemed to want to keep you away during the busy hours of his day, now he seemed to want you near enough to reach in a moment's notice. Almost as if he’s worried you’ll abandon him when he’s not looking.

You wonder how he can still feel so worried after sharing such a fun and intimate moment with you.

So, you’ve given him some extra leeway, allowing him to hover to his heart's content until he seems secure in knowing that you’re not going anywhere.

That being said, you really didn’t mind Boba’s loitering close by to wherever you happened to be, you only wish you knew he wasn’t doing it because of the events that conspired earlier in the week.

“Boba,” You say lightly, catching his arm as he turns. “You don’t need to keep checking up on me, I’m not...you know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

He pauses at your words, hands stilling in their endeavor to tighten up loosened pieces of clothing and armor. You hope you haven't upset him in calling out his unusual conduct.

He averts his gaze to the side, pausing a moment before turning back to you. “I know.” He says nodding, a slight hint of defeat in his tone.

You hope perhaps some flattery will comfort him, stepping closer and lifting your gaze to meet his own. “My king,” you say in admiration, “You are a very busy man. You have a planet to rule. And an underworld to dominate. There are many things that I know put strain and worry in your mind, but whether or not your partner will still be here when you go looking for her should not be one of them.”

He doesn’t make any movements, and the face of his visor does little to allow you access to his thoughts.

“What I mean to say is,” You continue, “Go rule your empire. Your princess is safely stashed away in the palace you’ve encompassed her in.”

He breathes out a chuckle, and you smile, “I am happier here with you than I ever thought I’d be. I don’t want to be anywhere you won't be too, Boba Fett.” You reiterate your words from your conversation a few days ago. One that both started and ended with the two of you in tears. A rare moment between the two of you indeed. An exceedingly painful incident for him, having showcased the true depth of his love for you in such an unexpected and vulnerable way. And for you, to have seen the strongest and most fearless man you have ever known brought down to his knees, in tears, was absolutely gut-wrenching, especially in knowing that his own insecurities about your love had driven him to feel such fear.

You squeeze his arm and kiss the cheek of his helmet in valediction. His unmoving visor lingering on your face for an extended moment.

Boba’s hand makes its way to the back of your head, pulling you forward slightly before gently meeting you in the middle with his own helmet. Your foreheads pressed together in an intimate and tender kiss.

He pulls away silently, giving you a nod, a gesture you return with a small smile before watching him exit the room, Enzo in tow.

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You make your way to the kitchens, stomach growling unhappily at having been neglected all afternoon.

You pause under the doorway.

“I’ve seen you far too much today,” You sigh, feigning exasperation at the sight of Enzo shifting through the pantry for a meal to take to his room.

He stops his digging, turning to face you standing under the doorway before spinning back around.

“Vod’ika,” He greets, “Soup?” He holds a can up over his shoulder while reaching for a pot below the stove.

“No, thanks.” You say, approaching his station.

You pick up the canister of tomato soup, looking it over. “I doubt this tiny thing is even enough for just you.”

He glances down at the can in your hand. “I’ll do two then.”

You roll your eyes, what is it with these massive Mandalorians and not understanding proper nourishment?

“No, no.” You chide, “At least attempt to incorporate a healthy balance into your diet. Something with protein, maybe? Make a grilled porg-and-cheese melt to go with the soup. You can dip it in the broth, it’s delicious.”

His teal visor meets your face, shifting in uncertainty. “Can you do it?”

You sigh, “Fine.”

You get out the sandwich makings, opting to make one for yourself as well. You smear the bantha butter along four pieces of bread and grill them on a pan, layering sliced porg and cheese slices afterward.

You hear footsteps approaching the kitchen just as you’re pulling the finished sandwiches off the stove.

“Raul!” You greet with a smile, Enzo��s head whips in your direction. “We’re making sandwiches, want one?”

“You never sound that excited to see me.” Enzo declares.

You giggle at the accusation, sliding his sandwich onto a plate and handing it to him.

“Can I make you one, Raul?” You repeat.

He sighs, “No kid, thank you.” He steps forward and pulls Enzo’s plate from his hands, placing it away from him on the counter.

“Aye!” Enzo protests, wanting to transport his hot meal to his room so he could eat.

“We work for her,” Raul says, articulating the ‘we’ with an exaggerated hand gesture between the two of them. “You should be making her sandwich, not the other way around.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” You groan, looking between the pair of Mandalorians.

“Yeah, Raul,” Enzo mocks, a slightly more threatening air to his tone. He retrieves the stolen soup and sandwich, “Don’t be a di’kut.”

Raul’s helmet tilts slightly at Enzo’s words. Not knowing exactly what the word means, but starting to get an unsettling feeling in your stomach, you attempt to intervene, “Guys-”

Just a moment too late.

Raul clamps a hand on Enzo’s arm, jolting him back from trying to pass him. His hand smacks the plate out of Enzo’s hand, the glass shattering before it even reaches the floor, and the soup and sandwich splattering everywhere.

“I made that-” You frown.

Now with two free hands, Enzo grips Raul’s shoulders and shoves him back against the brick ovens, a rough grunt escaping Raul when his helmet meets the open face of a hanging pan.

“Please stop-” You yelp, wincing as Enzo’s fist uppercuts into the weak spot under Raul’s helmet.

For being half a head shorter and not as obviously built as his opponent, the Mandalorian in black and teal armor could sure hold his own.

Raul spits something out in mando’a, his words seething as he grabs onto the cuff of the smaller Mandalorians neck covering and throws him with little exertion to the floor. You hear the crunching of glass beneath Raul’s boots as he growls with a foot on pressing to Enzo’s chest in an effort to force him into submission.

“-I wish you guys wouldn’t always do this.” You sigh, not bothering to shout anymore over the sound of beskar scraping against beskar.

You slide from your seat, taking your sandwich with you as you circle around the room to avoid becoming collateral damage in the red Mandalorian’s show of dominance.

“I have never witnessed two people fight over something so stupid in my life!” You call out behind you, tearing a piece of your sandwich off and popping it into your mouth. Leaving the sound of metal crashing against stone behind you.

---------------------------------

You sigh when you finally reach your room, ascending the steps inside your chambers to reach the bedroom. You’re about to sit down on the bed when you catch sight of your reflection, covered in dust patches and knee stains from when you scrubbed against the floor. You opt to take a quick shower instead, washing out all the grime gathered in your hair and skin.

It takes a couple minutes of harsh scrubbing for the water to stop running off your body brown. You take extra care to wash behind your ears and around your hairline, where dirt likes to plant itself firmly.

You turn the water off when the last few soap suds slide off your hair, wrapping yourself in a warm towel.

Taking a glance out the window, you note that the suns are already setting low on the horizon, and resign yourself to just staying in for the rest of the night.

You pull on a slip dress and wrap yourself in Boba’s robe, inhaling his comforting, musky scent. You reach for your book on the nightstand before lighting a couple of candles around the space, creating a warm and cozy environment.

Satisfied with the aesthetic you set around you, you plop down on your bed and hope to get a few chapters into your novel before Boba gets home. Admittedly getting distracted a couple times by the stunning, shaded view out your window, exposing you to the last few moments of the captivating sunset.

Boba comes home a little over an hour later, the glow in your chambers now reduced to only a few lamps and the candlelight spread about your room, but enough to alert Boba of your presence.

You hear his heavy armored footsteps trudging up towards the bedroom. You turn your head expectantly when he reaches the top. Helmet in hand, he pauses for a moment upon seeing you, admiring the image of your figure wrapped up in his robe and curled up with a book, before stepping forward and greeting you with a kiss.

He pulls back, gaze immediately flickering to the window, probably having noticed it immediately upon entering the room but choosing to greet you before acknowledging it.

You groan internally, knowing what's coming.

“Mesh’la,” He hums, frowning at the open curtains exposing you to the darkness of the Tatooine night. A few dim lights from Mos Eisley shining in the distance. He steps forward to slide the curtains closed, you don’t complain, only having wanted them open for sunset. “What have I told you, little one? It's not safe to have these open.”

“I only just opened them, Boba.” You fib a little, hoping to reassure him.

He nods, unconvinced, before beginning to strip himself of his armor. You observe him unlatch the beskar piece-by-piece, placing the armor neatly in its designated chest.

He groans loudly when he sinks down beside you, arms raising behind his head.

You giggle at his tired show of soreness, eyes still glued to the pages of your book. “Old man,” You mutter.

“Watch it.” He growls lowly. You glance a peek at him, eyes closed heavily against his cheeks.

You ponder your bravery for a moment, sticking your nose back in your book before impulsively whispering, “Relic.” You shriek, bursting into a fit of laughter as he suddenly reaches over and wrestles the book out of your hands, using it to plant a harsh smack on your behind.

“Boba Fett!” You squeal, hands moving to shield your bum as the vibrations from his deep laugh shake the bed.

Still holding the book up in a threatening manner, a childlike gleam in his eyes, he challenges you, “Apologize.”

You consider tossing another remark out, eyes darting to the book in his hand, before deciding against it tonight.

Instead, you hoist yourself up onto your knees, allowing his robe to slowly slide down your form and meet the duvet, revealing the thin slip below. His closed-lip smile increases a little, eyes tracing down your form, book lowering slightly in the space above where he lay.

You crawl forward until your chest hovers above him, noses nearly touching, “My apologies, my king.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He deepens the kiss with a groan, your hand reaching back to grip your novel, which he allows you to slip from his fingers.

You let him attack you lips for another moment before you pull away. Having gotten what you wanted, you shift back to your side of the bed, turning to the page you left off at.

A deep chuckle rumbles out from Boba’s chest. “Alright, little one.” He says, “I'll let you play your game.”

He turns the light out on his side of the bed, pulling the blankets out and over the two of you before moving to embrace your form, leaning close to whisper in your ear, “-this time.”

A shiver runs down your spine and you try to resist the smile tugging at your lips, though you feel his own brushing against your ear in satisfaction.

“Tomorrow,” He says, shifting a little above you, “I’m heading into Mos Eisley with Fennec.

“What for?” You ask, finally marking your page and setting it aside.

“Nothing,” He grumbles, “I need to put on a little show of...authority, for a few people.”

You hum, “No big deal?” You question.

“Just a local inconvenience.” He gripes.

You nod slightly, not requiring any elaboration. You suppose you’ll have to entertain yourself tomorrow. “Well then, maybe I’ll have Raul teach me how to wield a dagger,” You quip, a grin back on your face.

Boba huffs out an amused puff of air, “I’d much prefer you with a blaster.” He says, apparently taking the idea seriously, “You don’t need to be up close to use it.”

“We’ll see then,” You say, standing to turn out the rest of the lights.

A single lit candle from your bedside table casts a warm glow over Boba’s face, eyes closed and head still leaning back against your bed-frame pillow.

“Get back on your side,” You chuckle, nudging him as you crawl back into your space.

“M’fine here.” He mumbles, leaning further over onto your pillow.

You smile, his body encasing yours and his nose presses into your neck.

“I’ll be fine here too you know.” You mutter, referencing the day you’ll be spending without his guard.

“You finally gonna stop worrying about me?” You tease, having received no response.

He shakes his head, snuggling deeper into your neck, “Never.”

---------------------------------

A/N pt.2: So I wrote this and I thought it was great then I read it back a few times and realized literally nothing happened haha im so sorry 😅😅😅

Literally spent too many hours on this not to upload though so I suppose here’s a filler chapter my bad lots of love 🥰

#an angel amongst demons #Boba Fett #boba x reader #boba x you #the mandalorian #book of boba fett #din djarin #mando #boba!palace #soft!boba #king!boba #boba fett x reader #boba's palace

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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years

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Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble.

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas.

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context.

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists.

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age.

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in.

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’.

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters.

Wait, what?

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage.

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this.

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake.

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way.

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’.

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom.

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khantoelessar · 3 years

Text

Hogan’s timeline prior to Stalag 13

The purpose of this meta is to make an attempt at trying to fit Robert Hogan’s timeline pre-Stalag 13 to match something close to that of the actual historical timeline of World War II. I’m not saying this is actual canon, more like suggesting a possibility to stimulate conversation about Hogan’s timeline before being shot down and also an interest in World War II itself.

There are going to be holes in my theory. I’m well aware of this. However, trying to fit Hogan’s Heroes canon timeline to actual historical timeline is like trying to piece it together with baling wire, duct tape and glue. But that is half the fun anyway.

So on we go.

Our first semi-confirmed date for the series is the pilot episode which tells us it is the winter of 1942.

We also have a semi-confirmed date from A Tiger Hunt in Paris that “Frank Dirken” escaped Stalag 13 December 1942. Now America entered the war when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour on 7 December, 1941. Roosevelt officially declared war on Germany on 11 December, 1941.

But actual hostilities did not commence right away. There was the problem of getting all those men and material across the Atlantic but also, and I mean no disrespect to the Americans when I point this out, but due to America’s neutrality and non-intervention policy a majority of those in uniform at that time had no combat experience.

What this means in terms of Robert Hogan’s past prior to Stalag 13 is that it greatly constricts the time Hogan would have had to fight if he had first arrived in Britain with the rest of the USAAF. The first of the US 8th Air Force didn’t arrive in Britain until 12 May, 1942. (1) The first joint RAF/USAAF bombing raid was in the Netherlands on 4 July, 1942 (2) and the first solo US bombing raid in Europe was on 17 August, 1942, over Rouen. (3)

This would leave at the very most seven months for Hogan to not only establish his reputation as a bomber commander but also get shot down and then get the Stalag 13 operation up and running. In “Happiness is a Warm Sergeant” Le Beau says:

Le Beau: “Maybe we can tame [Kreb]. If he likes strudel.”

Hogan: “Come on. It took us six months to get Schultz to look the other way.”

Le Beau couldn’t have gotten the ingredients to make the strudel that is Schultz’s main bribe prior to the operation being set up, not from a POW camp.

Then there was the raid on the submarine base in Breman mentioned in “Two Nazis for the Price of One.”

Hogan: “I supposed you’re talking about the bombing mission I flew against your secret submarine base in Breman.”

There were three raids on Breman between May and December of 1942. 3-4 June, 25 – 28 June and 19 November. However there were other raids prior to that. (4)

One more interesting detail that I want to add before putting forward my theory as to Hogan’s timeline is that the first of the B17 flying fortresses saw action in Britain when the RAF used them to bomb Wilhelmshaven on 18 July, 1941. (5)

So here’s my theory. Hogan was flying for Great Britain before the US entered the war. There have been fanfics written on this which I highly recommend. However there is one snag with them. Hogan could not have been enlisted in the US Army Airforce when he did so. Not only was the US officially neutral in the war until 7 December, 1941 but it was illegal for US citizens to fly for Great Britain under America’s neutrality laws. But many did so by sneaking across the border into Canada with false papers, claiming to be Canadian or of other nationalities and travelling to Britain to join the RAF. (6) I think it is worth taking a moment to honour the courage of those men and what they risked. In the beginning the United States did not take these transgressions lightly as this story posted on the Warfare History Network attests.

“As they boarded the train for Montreal, the two Americans tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. They were well aware that if they were caught they would be in trouble. At the very least, they would be sent back to the United States. There was also the possibility that they could be sent to prison, as well as fined more money than they had seen in their entire lives.

At the Canadian border, the train stopped and several sinister looking officials got on board. They wanted to know where the two were going and why.

“We’re on our way to Montreal to see a cousin who runs a fish hatchery,” was the reply. One of the unsmiling officials—probably an FBI agent—wanted to know if they were fliers. “Don’t be silly. Do we look like fliers?”

The officials were apparently satisfied by the reply. One of them opened the suitcases of the two travelers and rummaged through the top layer of clothing. He did not look any deeper. If he had, he would have found what he was looking for—flying helmets, goggles, and logbooks. Instead, he closed the lid and wished the young fellows a pleasant trip.

The two Americans, Eugene “Red” Tobin and Andy Mamedoff, were not smuggling contraband. They were going to Canada to enlist in the air force of a foreign country which, in the early weeks of 1940, was against the law. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation kept a pretty close check on all Americans going to Canada,” Red Tobin later said, “so we had to watch our step.”

You can read the rest of the article here. (7)

The men who chose to go to Canada risked not only fines and imprisonment but also loss of their citizenship. (8)

It wasn’t until 19 November, 1941 that Britain officially revealed that there were three squadrons of American pilots called the Eagle Squadrons. (9)

Another fact the prohibits Hogan being part of the USAAF prior to the American entry is that prior to the war America had start to build up its own armed forces. (10) It began on 15 June, 1940. By 7 December, 1941 they had over 2 million in all branches. (11) This means that the USAAF was in desperate need of competent and skilled pilots to not only lead attacks but also to train new ones in its Air Corp tactical school. (12)

Combine these and I think it highly unlikely that the USAAF would have turned a blind eye to one of its best and most brilliant tactical pilots and officers to go AWOL to fight for a foreign country, especially at a time when the isolationist movement was strong.

There is another route open to Hogan having fought for the RAF and even during the Battle of Britain that I would like to explore here as a possible . . . let’s say, alternative headcanon.

He could have taken the route mentioned earlier by those other Americans, crossing the border into Canada, getting training there and then going onto Britain. I can see Hogan doing something like this. In the face of the news of repeated atrocities being committed by the Nazis and his country refusing to get involved, I can see Hogan taking on a false identity and slipping across the border in order to join the fight.

But this is also the same reason I think that Hogan was not allowed to go AWOL from the US Army. It would have violated Roosevelt’s Neutrality Laws, even though he declared,

This would have crossed to far over that line, to have an American USAAF officer openly fighting with the British, especially after Hogan started gaining fame as a war ace and bomber commander. If he was so feared by the Nazis that Biedenbender was jumped from Colonel to General;

Biendenbender: “You see I am the reason you are now here as a prisoner of war.” Hogan: “Thanks.” Biendenbender: “When the bombing raids of the squadron you commanded started to become . . . oh slightly annoying to the Third Reich I was assigned to study your tactics, to get inside your head, I know everything about you . . . so I was able to predict precisely the planning of your last bombing raid on Hamburg in which you were shot down, and I, hah, I was shot up to a General.”

then his fame would definitely have spread to the Commonwealth and then to America.

This is why I put forward the possibility that Hogan never enlisted in the USAAF. Also, Wikipedia states “None of the Eagle Squadron pilots had previously served in the USAAF and did not have US pilot wings.” (14)

There is the option that Hogan never joined the Eagle squadrons directly but flew for the RAF separately. First of all, according to the Wikipedia site (13) none of the Eagle squadrons flew bombers, let alone B17s. Also, in the episode “Some of Their Planes are Missing” and “Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London” we are told that Hogan was attached to the RAF.

If we take this into account when we look at Hogan’s timeline, we get a lot more room for Hogan to have accomplished all that he did. If he snuck across the border into Canada under a false identity prior or during the Battle of Britain which was July through September 1940 (15) he would have over a year of experience, including making his bombing runs on Breman before being finally transferred over to the USAAF and the 504th bomb squadron once America entered the war. The same Wikipedia site quoted before also states that the ranks in the RAF were transferred after some negotiations to the nearest equivalent rank.

There is another detail from the series that supports Hogan’s story links to Britain and the RAF over that of the USAAF and that is the fact that he reports to London, not Washington. Almost all his links to the Allies are British. There are a few Americans, General Barton in “The General Swap”, General Tilman in “How to Cook a German Goose with Radar”, the captain of that submarine in “The Pizza Parlour” and we do see the alliance of the British and the Americans in “Easy Come, Easy Go”.

But other than that all of his contacts and command structure that he reports to are British. There is no mention of the OSS or of Washington. When Hogan is flown back to England for the briefing before D-Day in “D-Day at Stalag 13” the General (we are not given a name) is British, not American and the “old man” they refer to is Churchill, not Roosevelt.

General: “Even to tell you this much this much had to be cleared at the highest level of intelligence, the Old Man himself.”

Hogan could have been one of those Americans who crossed the border into Canada, got false papers there and traveled to Britain to joined the RAF. He didn’t join the Eagle Squadrons (although I can see him qualifying on the spitfires because they were one of the best planes out there) because he’d been transferred to Bomber Command. When America entered the war, he transferred to the USAAF with the equivalent rank of Colonel and put in charge of the 504th bomb group (even though in reality the 504th flew in the Pacific theatre and not the European one and was part of the 20th Air Force) because by then his reputation had long since proceeded him. He was part of the US mass bombing raid on Ploesti on 12 June, 1942 (16) but was shot down after that and was transferred to Stalag 13 just about the same time as Klink, who (I’m assuming was there to solve the massive escape problems) as we are told in “The Kommadant Dies at Dawn”

Hogan: “Are you kidding, before I arrived you had so many escapes they were going to put a revolving door at the front gate.”

Now like I said this headcanon is not water proof. There are some holes that I can’t fill.

Hogan does say that he was assigned to the Pentagon in “Klink vs the Gonculator”

As mentioned previously, I don’t think the Army would have let him go AWOL to fight for a foreign country if he was already an officer.

On the other hand I should point out that he was talking to Klink and was running one of his cons on him. It is also possible that he was assigned briefly to the Pentagon after Pearl Harbour but before he was shot down. His experience and connections in the RAF would have been invaluable. So maybe this possible headcanon of mine still holds water.

There are also other people who could have taken this path to the war and that is Kinch and every other black POW in Stalag 13.

The Tuskegee Airmen, the only black American squadron in World War II were first deployed overseas in North Africa on 24 April, 1943. (17) That’s too late for Kinch and the other black POWs to be shot down and sent to Stalag 13.

But while the American forces were segregated Canada and Great Britain weren’t quite so insistent on it. They couldn’t afford to be. This is not to say there wasn’t discrimination. Both Canada and Britain did have discriminatory practices (18) (19) that limited enrollment to all but the most general positions to those not of white European descent. But in practice a person of colour’s ability to not only enlist but to serve in a role beyond that of support personal depended very much on the recruitment officer as shown in this story.

“In 1939 the so-called colour bar that prevented black people from serving in the British forces was formally lifted, largely because the Second World War meant that the Army, Navy and Air Force needed to recruit as many men as possible.

The lifting of the bar didn’t necessarily mean it was easy for would-be West Indian recruits to get in however.

There were people who would try three or four times to get in, or pay their own passage to come to Britain from the Caribbean.

Another route in was via the Royal Canadian Air Force. Canada may have been freezing cold but it was considered to be a warm and tolerant place for prospective black servicemen.

Billy Strachan couldn’t get into the RAF, so he sold his trumpet and used the money to pay his own passage to travel through U-boat-infested seas to London. He arrived at Adastral House in Holborn and declared his desire to join the RAF. The corporal at the door told him to “piss off.”

Happily however, an officer walked past who turned out to be rather more welcoming. He asked Strachan where he was from, to which Strachan replied “I’m from Kingston.”

“Lovely, I’m from Richmond” beamed the officer.

Strachan explained that he meant Kingston, Jamaica.

Shortly after that, he was training for aircrew.”

He went on to do a tour as a navigator in Bomber Command, then retrained as a pilot and flew with the 96th squadron.” (20)

See this link for the full story.

There were black fighter pilots in the RAF as shown in the links above. Not only that there were women of colour as well, such as Lilian Bader who joined the WAAF and Noor Inayat Khan who was one of the Special Operations Executive’s top agents in France. (21)

This is not to say that there wasn’t discrimination against people of colour in Canada and Britain. There certain were as the websites quoted here show.

But the racism was not as bad or as extreme as it was in the United States. People of colour could fill high ranking and highly visible prominent positions in the Second World War as shown in this article here. (22)

So this is a route that Kinch, Baker and the other black POWs could have taken to Stalag 13. Sneaking across the border, getting fake papers, training in Canada and then heading to Britain.

One of the holes in this possible theory is the issue of their uniforms. Unlike the American pilots who were white the black Americans pilots (if there were any) would not have been have been given equivalent rank in the USAAF or even been allowed to fly in the Eagle Squadrons once they were transferred to the USAAF. America was adamant on segregation, as shown here, (23) something that caused extreme tension in Britain.

While there was racism in Britain towards people of colour the racial hatred demonstrated towards black servicemen by the American G.I.s came as a shock to the British population. (24)

Hogan could have protested segregation all he wanted, demanded Kinch be allowed to fly until he was blue in the face (assuming he and Kinch did know each other as implied in “Prince of the Phone Company” episode).

Kinch: “Hogan?” Hogan: “Robert. Hogan.” Kinch: “Ha Ha! Of course! I went to school with this man in America.”

The Americans would not allow an integrated air force. At best Kinch and the other black pilots would have been sent back to the States to join the Tuskegee airmen.

At this point there are two routes open for Kinch and the other black POWs to have been in Stalag 13 in time to help Hogan start his operation. One, they had been shot down prior to the arrival of the 8th Army USAAF in Britain by 12 May 1942.

The second option is that they remained with the RAF instead of transferring to the USAAF. As this article point out some of the Eagle Squadron members decided to remain with the RAF instead of transferring to the USAAF. (25)

So my theory for a possible route could work for Kinch as well as for Hogan. They could have both snuck into Canada as civilians, got official training and then joined the RAF. Hogan joined bomber command and gained his reputation as a war ace and tactician then joined the USAAF after America entered the war. Kinch was either shot down on a mission just before 12 May 1942 or remained with the RAF and was shot down later. Hogan flew several more missions until Bienderbender overwhelmed him. The Red Cross would have notified Britain about Kinch and the others and Britain in turn would have notified the US who in turn would have had the American Red Cross send the black POWs American uniforms.

This may have led to a reduction in rank for Kinch. The role of navigator (originally titled observer in the RAF) which he fills in “Hogan throws a birthday party”,

was usually filled by commissioned officer, see link (26), but could hold any rank from airman second class to Group Captain. The rank of flight sergeant in the RAF is the equivalent of a Master Sergeant in the USAAF. But if Kinch held a rank higher than that (which seems likely given the skill and high level of responsibility) then his being a sergeant in Stalag 13 would have meant a reduction in rank.

But as I said, this is just speculation on my part in an attempt to try and put the canon of Hogan’s Heroes into something that fits the actual historical timeline. I freely admit that there are holes in my theory.

Which is why I’m saying that this theory of mine is put forward as a possible alternative route that Hogan, Kinch and the other black POWs could have taken to get to Stalag 13 and leave them enough time for them to do all that they did and I hope it stimulates discussion and thought and (not to sound like I’m getting on a soap box here but I love research) a desire to research World War 2 for interest in the subject. Certainly that is what Hogan’s Heroes did for me.

Sources

1. World War II Database: https://m.ww2db.com/event/today/05/12/1942

2. History.net: https://www.historynet.com/first-usaac-raf-joint-combat-mission-july-4th-1942.htm

3. World War II today: https://ww2today.com/17th-august-1942-the-usaaf-makes-its-first-raid-on-occupied-europe

4. Bombing of Bremen in World War II: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bombing_of_Bremen_in_World_War_II

5. World War II Database: https://ww2db.com/aircraft_spec.php?aircraft_model_id=4 \

6. Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Non-British_personnel_in_the_RAF_during_the_Battle_of_Britain#United_States

7. Warfare History Network: https://warfarehistorynetwork.com/2017/01/18/americans-in-the-royal-air-force/

8. Royal Air Force Museum: https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/research/online-exhibitions/americans-in-the-royal-air-force/eagle-squadrons/

9. WWII: The Complete War Report. Directed by Various. Mill Creek Entertainment. 2017

10. Not Even Past: https://notevenpast.org/inching-towards-war-military-preparedness-in-the-1930s/

11. National World War II Museum: https://www.nationalww2museum.org/students-teachers/student-resources/research-starters/research-starters-us-military-numbers

12. The US Army Airforces in World War 2: https://media.defense.gov/2010/Nov/05/2001329898/-1/-1/0/aaf_wwii-v1-2.pdf (pages 85 & 142)

13. Teaching American History: https://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/document/radio-address-delivered-by-president-roosevelt-from-washington/

14. Wikipedia: Eagle Squadrons: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eagle_Squadrons

15. Britannica.com: https://www.britannica.com/event/Battle-of-Britain-European-history-1940

16. 142nd wing : https://www.142fw.ang.af.mil/News/Article-Display/Article/1211286/redhawk-reflections-on-the-first-american-mission-in-europe-1942/

17. Tuskegee Airman: https://www.tuskegee.edu/Content/Uploads/Tuskegee/files/TUSKEGEE_AIRMEN_CHRONOLOGY12.2011.pdf (page 9)

18. Historyhit.com: https://www.historyhit.com/was-the-raf-especially-receptive-to-black-servicemen-in-world-war-two/

19. CBC.ca: https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/black-canadians-second-world-war-1.5793974

20. Historyhit.com: Was the RAF Especially Receptive to Black Servicemen in World War Two? | History Hit

21. Second World War Experience Centre: https://war-experience.org/lives/noor-inayat-khan-soe/

22. Royal Air Force Musuem: https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/research/online-exhibitions/pilots-of-the-caribbean/across-the-commands/

23. Royal Air Force Museum: https://www.rafmuseum.org.uk/research/online-exhibitions/pilots-of-the-caribbean/answering-the-call/the-second-world-war-1939-to-1945-segregation/

24. Theconversation.com: https://theconversation.com/black-troops-were-welcome-in-britain-but-jim-crow-wasnt-the-race-riot-of-one-night-in-june-1943-98120

25. The National Interest: https://nationalinterest.org/blog/reboot/these-americans-flew-royal-air-force-during-world-war-ii-168713

26. Wikipedia: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Bomber_Command_aircrew_of_World_War_II

#Hogan's Heroes #Colonel Robert Hogan #Sargeant James Kinchlow #Colonel Klink #World War 2 #World War 2 timeline #racism #segregation #Nazi Germany #RAF #USAAF

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wingingitonwheels · 2 years

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Two and a half weeks: Part 1

“Science is about predictions based on predictable fact. Life is about surprises based on the unpredictable reality.”- Ori Hofmekler

Monday 4 April:

Where to start?

Well this is actually the second time I’ve started this paragraph, in the same location as I started it previously, Groundhog Day. 3rd Covid test in 5 days. This is going to jump around a bit as not only am I a long way behind in my blog, a lot has happened in the last week…will have to break this down into parts and depending on what happens in the next few days, may have the challenge of writing about events two weeks ago and on the day I’m writing…things are about to get interesting! Perhaps the last time of writing for this adventure in the Southern Hemisphere…let’s see…

Saturday 2 April:

If you’ve been following along, I last left you reflecting on the contradictions and juxtaposition of Bolivia. We’ve skipped forward two weeks and you join me now as I sit at another border, Lima, awaiting what I hope will be a departure from South America, eye-opening and incredible as it’s been, albeit 36 hours later than scheduled, awaiting a second rapid antigen test within 24 hours, and considering what I will do if yesterday’s negative test result when retested today, comes back as positive. 45 minutes and counting…Mark, sat in the plastic chair in the airport car park next to me is watching the excellent series Taboo, which he downloaded yesterday ready for last night’s flight with Spirit, which was cancelled just as we arrived in good time at the airport, and all is calm.

I am still suffering from some parasitic tummy infection which has gone on for a week, and an ear infection, any benefit from any distance miles and altitude adaption feeling a long way behind me. The only new pair of my model of Sidi shoes in the USA is being flown by UPS to my accommodation in Fort Lauderdale, now the only reason I’m still going there, as any time spent with Mark there is now eradicated, as we are flying to his departing airport instead of Fort Lauderdale, where I’ve booked my accommodation. The flight cancellation has cost me £604 in total, and double that for the two of us, which we are counting on our insurance policies to cover, and not thinking too hard about it.

We have found humour in people watching as we’ve stood and queued for two hours: the security guard admitting punters in to be tested has his nose totally exposed over his mask, whilst 3 people behind us, a young man has covered pretty much his whole eyes with his mask, as he films himself not knowing how to reverse the camera, and not seeing that the only thing in shot is his mask, as he describes the unique experience he is going through in queuing for a covid test before flying. His accompanying mother could help, but apparently she is not tech savvy enough to hold the phone for him. Mark also found hilarity in the queuing nuns, who if were due to fly on the same flight, might have a different view of Spirit’uality, and were on their way to Nun’eaton.

It doesn’t seem too traumatic to be spending a day in a car park testing, as the alternatives don’t seem too enticing. We could head to the beach the far side of the airport, a port, or visit Colon Butchers for a bit of local fun. The alternative of crossing the city to get to the airport yesterday was another appealing option, but we’d have to take a taxi or tuktuk as we’d handed back the Toyota Yaris the night before, which is likely to be the last time the car will (or should) be used as a rental vehicle, due to the abuse it took from 3987 km of punishing Peruvian city and mountain roads. With this delay, and an unsurprising challenge at another border, it provides a great opportunity to reminisce and share my days in Peru with you.

Saturday 19th March - La Paz - Peruvian Border at Desguardo, Bolivia

The day before leaving for Peru, I decided that the only way out of La Paz alive was to take a cable car 400 vertical metres up, rising above the incomprehensible city landscape and to the relative safety of a level, if not surfaced, road network leading west towards the border. I took a ride on the route, having been sold “if you want a peaceful walk and to see the best of the city, take this cable” by the ticket operator, my walk at the upper level lasted all of 10 minutes, deciding this was no different to what I saw on my ride in the previous day. From the bird’s eye view, it wasn’t possible to see one green space below me, and the only colour being one housing district where the inhabitants had also decided that the cityscape needed some energy, and coordinated to create a neighbourhood of modern art in the form of painted buildings every colour of a Windsor and Newton paint set. The trip did provide some comfort that I would indeed be able to escape La Paz and break for the border the next day.

As if without words, and understanding my challenges within his country, the hotel’s chief of staff (the only member of staff I came into contact with), Alberto, popped out just for me having fetched a specially constructed fruit salad of exquisite colours, for no other reason than he wanted to, which once again,left me feeling slightly tearful with appreciation. He thought that seeing the world by bike was such a fantastic idea, and wanted to wish me well for my ongoing days, and I left with a smile and a great review for this final day in Bolivia.

My bike computer took me every which way through the scruffy streets of El Alto before eventually, I found my way to Ruta 1, all flat bar one testing climb approaching Lake Titicaca, one of the oldest lakes in the world. I expected a high volume of traffic as I’d seen on the two previous days, but perhaps being Saturday, it was surprisingly quiet. As the miles ticked away, the reasons became clear.

One by one, I came across tiny hamlets with villagers dressed in traditional celebratory dress. I’d thought it must be in honour of someone who’d died, or a public holiday, as each village has created a road block, but would let me walk my bike through whilst all motorised vehicles were stopped. The scenes got more bizarre as I continued. Still the villagers, but now in the blockades, lorries both sides of the roads, and then a little further, people wandering aimlessly to nowhere in particular, pulling luggage, sitting at the side of the road, and some cheering me on. There was now no moving traffic for all of the 20 remaining miles. The final blockade before the border town included boulders and fires and a large crowd being dictated to by one spokesmen as they all looked on. They looked like they’d been there for days, and had no intention of moving. Oblivious and determined that I was no part of this and would remain unaffected, I pedalled on to what seemed like a ghost town, an empty and unmanned border post, and confronted on the foot bridge crossing to Peru by a barrier of sitting protesters, determined not to let anyone through.

Still hopeful, I wandered in to the unlocked border control building, looking for life. A man eventually appeared and in our broken language conversation, he told me I couldn’t go across. I explained that this could not be the case as “my husband…it’s the only way I could explain that Mark was important to me)…was waiting the other side of the border and I absolutely MUST cross. And I’m on my bike, so no wasn’t an option. After much “no, you can’t cross”, he softened a little and said there was another vehicle crossing 4km away and to try there.

My bike computer directed me through a swamp, past pigs, wild dogs and some stenches I’d rather not dwell on, to a convoy of stationary vehicles, mostly lorries, numbering around 500. The barrier was down and no border guards in sight. The nearest beings I could find, I spoke to, a man larger than life, sat at a table by the barrier right at the front. “Hablas Ingles?”. Of course he did! This was a man whose name was Eduardo, whose full name became Argentine Eduardo Border from Purmamarca, who owned the first vehicle to be barricaded, a Hummer of some status. Eduardo was delighted to talk with me as at the time, he’d already been stuck for 2 days, but seemed pretty chilled about it. In the coming days, he offered and open invitation for me and “my husband” to be guests at his house, and shared his hotel, which by chance I’d photographed a week earlier. He explained that this blockade was a protest, with no end date, but might end the next day. Looking back at this retrospectively, the blockade continued for 4 days, a dispute about a long promised dual carriageway from La Paz to the border. Eduardo was caught up for all of this time, eventually contacting the Argentinian Embassy for permission to leave his Hummer, for it to be transported home when the dispute was finished and to get home himself with their support in the meantime. A man of many means!

As for me? He told me to break through the human barrier and find my man, reassuring me that they could not stop me. It was about 200m from the barrier to the human blockade, a group of about 20 protesters the far side of another barrier on the bridge. I am mostly a conformist, law-abiding and non-confrontational being, but knowing Mark was due to arrive and no way to communicate with him, I took my chances, climbed under the first barrier, rode to the second, climbed under the second and faced up to the protesters. “You can’t go through”, “Yes I can, try and stop me.” “What is your name?” I wish I’d answered something witty at that point like Donald Trump or Minnie Mouse, but defiantly replied “I’m not telling you!”, held my head up high whilst quickly mounting my bike and sprinted away as fast as my legs would turn. I expected a chase, but nothing! I was illegally over the bridge too far and had made my great escape, into Peru! Jubilation! I’d worry about what happened next later. Next to find the matrimonial room of a hotel within touching distance of the first border crossing.

It was important to get to my hotel as easily as possible when reaching Peru, as Enrique, bike shop owner in La Paz, although not completely knowledgeable, warned me that there were many desperate Venezuelans trying to move south from their country, and holding out at the border. If I could get to my hotel and hold out until Mark arrived, I’d be safe. The crime and threat wasn’t immediately obvious as I rode the silent streets of the town. I had my suspicions about the hotel Mark had booked through Airbnb though as it had multiple listings and the photos I could find online seemed to provide a hotel with a different name and colour. On finding it, and with no answer to my knock, I sat in the doorway, hoping to be safe and to not wait long. Within a few minutes, the owner appeared carrying shopping. I showed her our booking but she ignored me and said the hotel was closed, and slammed the door in my face, refusing to answer. A scam. And no way to contact Mark about where I’d go and what to expect when he arrived. Feeling more than disgruntled, I donned my shoes, taking a walk even closer to the border crossing to find a cheap and functional hostal, and nearly passed out as I climbed 3 flights of stairs, carrying my bike, remembering suddenly it was still 4000m above sea level. With a roof over my head and a bed for the night, I had to figure out how to connect with Mark, hoping he would still arrive as planned, that night.

I came up with a plan to wait for Mark on a bench within view of both the hotel and the likely route he would arrive from and sat with a downloaded film. Far from feeling unsafe, as the sun sunk and darkness set in, it was cold that made me most uncomfortable. I played with the street dogs and tried to stay warm, but eventually gave in to hoping Mark would find Wi-Fi when he was presented with the fictitious hotel, and we’d find each other. When I returned to my basic room overlooking thousands of street cables and numerous cash exchange booths, I hung out of the window, hoping somehow I’d see him arrive. After two hours, I finally got the call “Hi, I guess something had happened!”. He was across the road and five minutes later, and after 14 hours driving that day and 12 the day before for him, we finally met up!

Sunday, March 20 - Desguardea

It was time to deal with my illegal immigrant issue. I had hoped that Peru would just turn a blind eye to the lack of exit stamp from Bolivia on an old bit of paper, but the border guards directed us to another border crossing an hour north-east, Yunguyo. I’d been expecting chaos, a fine, issues with the Bolivian scrap of paper with an immigration stamp, but what I found was a helpful officer, a laughing Bolivian at the flakiness of my immigration stamp, a medical test and finally, a stamp in my passport for Peru! The weather was poor, foggy and cold, and Mark had struggled with the sudden gain in altitude. He likened his nighttime breathlessness to the minutes before his stroke, and without much discussion, we made a decision to leave Peru’s rainy season for the mountains, head to lower altitude 300km away and the on to the coast for a sea-level run into Lima.

The journey across the Altiplane initially took us up for 150km and our highest elevation of the trip at 4800m. The skies darkened and civilisation quickly disappeared except for a few lonely mud-constructed homes, and large exposed expanses of scrubland, dotted with Llamas and Alpacas. For each of the three villages we past through, we were stopped by police, who kindly told us the errors of our ways: “Where are you going? Where are you from? Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you doing that?” “Oh Senor, I understand! You want money!” “It is to help the villagers, you understand”. Within two days of being in Peru, we had experienced a hotel scam and dodgy police on the take. If I’m honest, all 4 incidents did make me a little cross, but what can you do? Rather than the threat from desperate asylum seekers, it seemed crime was much more organised than someone fleeing a country such as Venezuela. But as far as scamming went, these gentle if criminal police were the most polite and friendly people to be conned by. Mark seemed pretty resigned to playing along and not being wound up…I saw it as this was the flavour of Peru and it was here for the duration.

This 300km journey delivered the only fraction of a sunset I saw in South America, as we started our descent to 1800m…but that was fine. Moquegua provided a bed, my first Pisco sour and civilisation until we dropped to the coast the next day.

The biggest surprise for me on this first day in Peru’s high altitude was the complete remoteness of some dwellings on mountainsides. At altitude here at least, the wilderness was almost desert like, other than the coarse scrubland. Living seemed like Bolivia, hostile and even savage. As we had learnt that day, we’d arrived at the beginning of the Andes rainy season. It was hard to imagine sun; there seemed to be no electric or utilities available to any home, so how did they exist and stay warm? It was a relief in some ways to rediscover a town the size of Leighton Buzzard when we did, and although it still hummed with the traditional people and dress, goods and food of the higher lands, it had conveniences, hostals, a market and town square and restaurants.

Mark’s total driving had reached 1800km, and I’d done my first long stretch in the car. But Mark could breathe and having seen it’s harsh and lonely high nearly no-man’s land, high winds and freezing temperatures, I wondered whether I would have made it in two days to the safe haven of Moquegua without drama../I’ll never know, but the stage was set for what became a ride/drive tour of Peru over two weeks.

Monday, March 21 - Moquegua

The last section of the day before we experienced an incredible descent from

4800m to 1800m down a twisting, ribbon-like and exciting mountain road. The scenery had changed as if someone had transported us from a lunar landscape to a mountainous desert in a tele-porter, teasing me with the last and only glimmer of sunset I’d see in South America. The decision was made that we’d stay an extra night in Moquegua so I could ride as high as time would allow in order to complete the descent back into town.

We discovered a great cafe for breakfast and just as we ordered, I noticed a touring cyclist rest his bike on the cafe window. Unbelievably, this cyclist turned out to be someone Mark has randomly stopped on his drive to me to offer food and water as he drove by, 3 days earlier. This was Alex, an ultra-cyclist from Quebec, Canada. We could have been made from the same mould: under-nourishes, smelly, scruffy, and eyes a little wider than most peoples due to a continuous stream of on-road entertainment…and equally as surprised to see Mark as we were him! What was due to be a short pre-ride breakfast turned into a 2 hour brunch, as we learnt about Alex’s adventure, his drive, motivation, work and employer’s employee wellbeing and benefits. Alex was taking 11 months to ride from somewhere in Canada to somewhere in South America, as far as time would allow. His employer, Canada railways, allows its employees to take up to a year off every four years, and continues to pay them during their leave, for which the employee effectively pays for this time off as they work. It means employee mental health is good and attrition is low, and people such as Alex (and he named 3 other colleagues) can take time out to fulfil their dreams without having to pack up their jobs as I did, and never lose sight of what is important to people for their long-term happiness.

Our fantastic new friend arriving left me short of time to ride to the absolute top of the descent/climb l, 96km uphill, but I set out to do what I could, eventually settling on 4000m, where the wretched weather started to threaten and the wind picked up and the temperature dropped rapidly. Looking back and not knowing at the time what would happen up the road, the 2200m descent will be my longest, most fun and spectacular for perhaps my lifetime, and whilst it took 4 hours to climb, it took less than a hour to descend! I noticed on descending that my back brake was not playing well, something that is still a problem as I write nearly two weeks later. I think Bolivia had finally done some damage to an otherwise perfect bike.

Tuesday 22 March Moquegua- La Curva

We’d made the decision to go low for the rest of the trip, as the weather was worse than Scotland at altitude, and I’d not seen true desert. We’d hoped to get the bike fixed in the town, but the local shop bike mechanic, Julio, didn’t have the tools to bleed and refill the hydraulics with new brake fluid, and recommended we went to Peru’s second city, Arequipa, where a Specialized concept store would be able to help. From a route perspective, this meant we’d descend to the coast for one day, to climb back to 2800m and the city the following. We had no real plan after Arequipa but sorting the bike out was non-negotiable.

We discussed our plans at the same cafe over breakfast and who should arrive? Alex! Another long breakfast and talks through how he would get through high altitude and avoid high Bolivia in order to get to Argentina and continue south.

We finally got going around midday and headed for the desert. Wow! Another epic change of scenery! Where the Patagonian desert had been hard, dry and barren scrubland, it had little sand, but suddenly, I had become a cycling extra in “Lawrence of Arabia”! Towering, drifting sand dunes, some with core of rock, others gigantic windswept mounds of sand, dotted with derelict and decaying roofless shells of buildings for which it was hard to imagine anyone had ever managed to exist. Not an atom of moisture and a beautiful black ribbon with yellow thread, weaving its way down and north-east to the coast. This was to be the first day that Mark was truly supporting me. It was never thought his purpose was to feed me fresh mango and banana in the desert, but to protect me from the terrible reported crime in Peru…for which it seemed all but organised crime had gone on holiday. But that’s what happened. The sweetest, juiciest mango I’ve tasted in the driest, most unforgiving desert landscapes on earth.

When the green of a river valley did eventually appear, it was so vivid in colour because of the previous singular shade of sand, it was as though someone had taken a photo and turned the saturation up as high as it would go, and that in itself is a vista I’ll not forget. The eventual destination of La Curva was unremarkable, and our hotel room was shared with millions of little ants, but at least I’d finally managed to see a coastline in South America 😊.

When we drove around a little following the ride, the coast just north of La Curva was very much like any resort anywhere in Europe, and didn’t fill us with excitement to explore more coast by bike and although it meant that we’d be heading back into the mountains and potentially bad weather, it was clear I’d soon be bored with the sameness of the coast all the way to Lima. So up, up, up!

Wednesday 23 March: La Curva - Arequipa

I won’t talk much about the ride for this day, except to say it was very uphill, long and baking hot! The story of Wednesday was the surprise that was Peru’s second city, Arequipa.

To be continued…/

#Spotify

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innocent-chris-evans-slut · 4 years

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The Assistant - Part Six

My Masterlist ✨

Requests are open.

Word Count: 3,7k

Type: angst, fluff, fluff smut

Summary: Y/N is Ransom Dysdale’s assistant. She’s the closest person to him and spends everyday with him at his house. Usually she gets in at nine o’clock and makes sure everything is perfect. One day he doesn’t want to get up and Y/N goes in his room. She finds a surprise.

Warning(s): swearing, squirting, dirty talking

Two Months Later

Two months after having left Ransom’s house, a lot of things changed. You were no more a student; you successfully graduated at University and were now experiencing your first days in an elementary school -as a teacher. You went back to Belmont a couple of days after your graduation but found out your parents and brothers moved out, so you didn’t see them.

When you came back you found none waiting for you, welcoming you back home. The balloons your friends had brought to your house the day you graduated were deflating and gradually falling to the floor. You could no more distinguish the letters and it made you sad; they were nothing else but a bunch of rubbish of which you should have got rid soon.

You weren’t used to spend the day in your flat -which you found extremely silent- so you didn’t know what to do. You looked for something to read in your bookcase but grumbled when you couldn’t find anything you liked -or that you haven’t read before. Going to a bookstore was out of question since your university rent had been just payed and you had no job, so you just couldn’t fritter your money away. You kept them for essential goods.

Though spending almost fifty bucks in a restaurant wasn’t planned.

Your friends had been trying to convince you to join them all-day long and when you finally gave up, you didn’t know they had previously booked at the most expensive restaurant in your area. You didn’t want to explain them why you couldn’t afford such a fancy expense, so at seven o’clock you found yourself in the only luxurious dress you got. Long, pink and strapless, with an entire-length zip on the front. Just like the last time you’d wore it, you matched it with a pair of black heels.

You looked at yourself through the mirror in your bathroom as you applied some mascara on your eyelashes. You had just finished when your phone buzzed next to the sink and you got Lana, one of your friends, was waiting for you outside.

“Let’s end this quickly”, you grabbed your purse and head out of your apartment.

Three hours later you were laughing with your friends, recalling to your memory all the good times you had back in the University. You all got graduated the same day, so they shared the precious moment, though with different endings. Your friends went celebrating their great achievement with their families and you went back to your flat, alone, and ordered a cake from the bakery at the corner and ate it at dinner.

Alone.

On the table, your phone lighted up and began buzzing -not stopping for more than a couple of seconds. When you handed it, you found three missed calls from Sam, five messages from Harlan and even two missed calls from Linda.

One in-coming.

You excused from your friends and got up, once outside, you answered the phone, “Hello?”

“Oh, finally! Y/N, is that you, right?” as she heard your positive answer, she went on: “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last two weeks. Know what? I don’t care. I need you to reach Ransom’s place. He has been unmanageable for the last weeks and now he’s acting like an asshole. He closed me out!”

You thought that she seemed much more concerned that she had to be, since Ransom had always been an asshole and you had to cope with that ‘joke’ a lot of times when you were his assistant.

“Tell him that you are about to cut his money off. He’ll open the door immediately”, you were about to hang up when you heard her voice once more.

“Listen, I don’t know where you are, but you have to come here. It’s hard to admit it, damn! You’re the only person he listens”, she snorted and seemed to be trying to get in the house, without any good result, “I can send a car to pick you up. You have to help me”, then she lowered his voice and you heard what she said later, only because you were in a silent space, “You’re the only one”.

You hissed and had a look inside the restaurant: your friends were laughing, and it seemed they didn’t care you weren’t there with them. You glanced down at your body and once again raised your eyes at them; you realized you had nothing to with them. You weren’t like them and, though you liked being spoiled, you didn’t like spending your money over fancy things.

You had been running away from your problems since you were eighteen and you were done with it. At that moment you made the decision to stop being as people wanted you, and you started modelling your future as you wanted it to be.

When you saw them get up and pay the check, you made your decision about how to end that night.

That was the reason why, thirty minutes later you found yourself jumping out of a Jeep and walking down the walkway of Ransom’s house. From far away, you saw a pink-dressed woman waving at you, you figured out she was none other than Linda Thrombey. Next to her stood her husband, Richard Drysdale. The more you approached the porch, the more you felt their eyes on your skin.

You acknowledged Harlan’s presence after seeing Marta’s car parked no far away from Ransom’s Beemer.

Lovely family reunion, you thought approaching them.

“Ms. Y/L/N, finally you’re here!” Linda ran to you, “Let him leave this damn house!” the pleading Linda Thrombey was gone.

In front of you stood the most selfish bitch you had ever known.

“Have you tried with the spare key?” you saw them shake their heads and look at you with wide open eyes, “Of course you didn’t”, you whispered to yourself, though not low enough to prevent Marta from hearing it. She chuckled and sent an amused glance at you, never leaving Harlan’s side.

None made you space while you got the spare key from under the plant on your right, neither did they moved when you tried, but failed, in getting into the house.

“Why aren’t you in there? We didn’t call you for nothing!”

“I am trying to get in!” you raised your voice, addressing to Richard and Linda -who weren’t properly helping you, “What have you done since getting here? I don’t think much, granted that you didn’t even know Ransom keeps a spare ke-“, you eyes lightened up and a smile crossed your face.

You knew exactly what to do.

You searched in your purse and, when your fingers touched what you were looking for, you grew more satisfied with yourself. Without saying a word to anybody, you walked around the house and stopped in front of the back door -which Ransom didn’t know existed so, it would have been easier for you to get in. In fact, when you forced the keyhole, it opened in less than a second.

Thank God he despises the kitchen, you chuckled and entered the house. Once you got rid of your jacket and your purse, you wandered in the living room -intentionally ignoring the noises coming from outside.

Empty bottles of whiskey stood on the floor. You could scent the strong-smelling of alcohol filling your nose. Usually you would smell Ransom’s scent from the entrance, yet not this time: the alcohol’s smell was too strong. Though the living room was nothing compared to Ransom’s office. It was completely destroyed; the lamp and the computer monitor on his desk had been thrown off and paper covered the floor, the chairs had been hurled against the wall, wrecking it.

You were about to explore the upper floor, when you heard a sob coming from behind your former desk. You quietly moved around the desk and what you found on the floor made your stomach twist in knots.

Sat, with his back leaned against the leg of the wooden-made desk, there was Ransom Drysdale -like you hadn’t seen him before.

He was a tearing and sobbing mess. His eyes swollen and red, just like his nose and his lips. There were tears running down from his cheeks and the upper border of his shirt was wet. You kneeled in front of him and balanced yourself by putting a hand on his thigh.

“What happened?” you asked him, glimpsing a hint of vulnerability in eyes which you had never seen before, “Ransom, talk to me. What happened?”

“You-“, he looked at you with watery eyes, tears spilling from them and running down on his cheeks. A hiccup shocked his whole body and the wall, he was desperately trying to build around him, fell. “Every time I grow fond of someone, every time I do actually care about someone, they run away. I keep asking myself if I will ever have people caring about me on this Earth”.

The look he gave to you broke your heart. You could feel tears already forming at the corners of your eyes and a burning sensation in your throat.

It broke you to see him like that. His eyes weren’t shining blue as always, a dark shade was covering them. Your fingers found their way to his cheeks and you rubbed your thumbs over then, swiping away his tears, “Please, don’t talk like this. I care about you. Why would I be here, otherwise?” you talked to him as a mother would have done to his child, “Tell me what happened”.

“You. You fucking happened.”

You kept quiet for a moment, trying to process his words, yet you couldn’t understand them. You wouldn’t understand them, “Ransom, I-“

“Yeah. You. You ruined my life. I wonder where I would be now if that fucking day, I didn’t hire you. Damn, you turned my life upside down. Fun fact is that you don’t even know what you did to me”, he grabbed both your wrists and brought your hands touching his chest. You lost your balance and fell forward. You would have hit him, if he didn’t hold you firmly, “You…” he breathed through his teeth, “-you had ruined me. I can’t even think about another woman who isn’t you. I dream of you at night and when I wake up I had this urge of kissing you. And that’s strange before I do never kiss anybody. Kisses are off-limits for me, but- sometimes I just want to sit down and kiss you. Not even fuck you, which is basically impossible for me with a hot girl in front of me, and…” Ransom groaned and leaned forward. His lips crushed against yours and when you thought of it, Ransom was licking your bottom lip, slightly parting your lips and inserting his tongue inside your mouth. His hands grabbed your ass and dragged you closer, to the point that you were sitting on his lap, the bottom part of your dress had raised, leaving your underside almost completely exposed.

You cupped his face as you felt him tightening his grip around your waist. Then you ran your fingers through his golden locks, and he moaned in your mouth. That kiss was blowing your mind, heavily messing up with your mental capacity. As no one before, Ransom had you moaning and shivering only with his lips on yours. You relaxed yourself against his strong, built body and he gladly held you up.

Once the breathtaking kiss had ended, you rested your head in the crock of his neck, finally you had the chance to inhale his scent. Then he grabbed you by your wrists -again- and made you face him, “Teach me”, Ransom took a deep breath and kept speaking: “I want to love you, to respect you, to worship you. I want to treat you as my girlfriend, as the only girl that has me twisted around her fingers. Fuck, I want to spoil you, to give you the entire world if you let me do it. But, please, teach me how to love you”, his speech made you cry. Now you had switched places; he was the one swiping away your tears, and you were shaking under his touch, “I don’t know how to properly love you. Teach me how to”.

You could have been a bit stronger, maybe have resisted a little more to his words, instead you nodded repeatedly and firmly and rushed into his arms. You felt his biceps tightening around your thin body, and your hands went under his armpits and then on his shoulders. You loved the sensation and looked him in his eyes, “You have to promise me only one thing”, at his signal to go on, you spoke again: “You have to promise me that you’ll never give up on us. When you feel stressed, if something doesn’t suit you, every little things that bothers you, you come to me and we talk. If you want me to teach you how to love a girl, y-“

“Not a girl. I want you to teach me how to love you. You’re the only girl that I’m interested in now and forever”, he lifted you chin with two of his fingers as you looked down at your shoes, “I’ve told you. I want to love you. And only you”.

You smiled at him and slowly got near to his face, your lips twitching at the idea of kissing him again, though you warned him before anything else could happen: “I’m going to kiss you. Nice and slow. If you’re not ready, stop me”.

He didn’t move a single hair, and, in that moment, you understood how willing Ransom was to walk down a new, completely undiscovered path. But he wouldn’t be alone, you would have been right next to him, holding his hand and encouraging him.

•••

Six Months Later

A soft knock on the door of Ransom’ office had him raise him eyes from the papers on the desk.

“Come in!” he called and put down the pen he was holding.

As the door opened, Caity came in and she was bringing with her good news, “Netflix just sent in the trailer of the movie”, she showed a sequence of it on the iPad in her left hand, “It will be released at midnight. Congratulations, Mr. Drysdale”.

He ran out of words for a moment, unbelieving that all what he had worked on for the past few months, finally was going to be recognized, “Thank you, Caity. Can you, please, let my girlfriend in? And then you can go home”, he watched as his new assistant thanked him and exited the room.

Ransom knew his girlfriend would have showed up at any moment, so he got up and cleaned the mess on his desk. He put the paper in the first drawer, got rid of all pens and pencils, place the lamp on the floor and his iMac in its black bag. By the time you crossed the door, his desk was clean…and empty.

“I’m not going to ask you about that”, you approached him and sat on his lap, “I’m really proud of you. Your first movie is going to be released in less than two months!” you were over the moon, and really proud of him and how hard he had worked for the past six months.

Your relationship wasn’t the only thing that changed in his life. Ransom had decided to quit the family company and, instead, publish his first book. Hands down, it’d become a bestseller in less than a week and the critics loved it. How come everybody loved the redemption of a former playboy, you could easily understand that.

“I know! And that’s all thanks to you, incredible girlfriend”, he leaned over and pressed a kiss on your forehead, “Now…I really would like to open my present”, he gave your ass a firm squeeze and, in the meantime, kissed your cheek.

“Is it so?” you chuckled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “I mean, what’s on the plate for me?”

“Hours and hours of pleasure. I have enough of blowjobs and licking your pussy, not that I don’t like it. Let me be clear, you’re the sweet-“

You placed your index finger on his lips, shutting him up, as you leaned your ass against the desk, “Were you planning on open your present on your desk?”

“Nope”, he picked you up and seated you down on the desk. He placed his hands on both your shoulders and shoved you down. His hands travelled from your ankles to your knees, spreading them out, and then to the elastic bend of your slips, taking them off and throwing them at his shoulders, “I’ve already opened my present”.

You laughed, tilting your head back. When you looked back at Ransom, you found him looking at you with a wide smile on his face and his blue eyes sparking, “What?”

He kept smiling, then became serious, “I love you”, and he kissed you. It was a soft, yet a kiss full of lust. He grabbed the border of the dress you were wearing and within a couple of seconds it was gone, just like your bra.

You cupped his face and dragged him closer, “I love you, too”, and kissed him again. You didn’t process that, but Ransom had taken off all his clothes and was standing in front of you completely naked.

With one only step, he avoided you from going away and placed his hands back on your mid-thighs, pinning you down on the desk.

“And now?”

Ransom would have never thought that a sweet, innocent girl like you could have him wrapped around her fingers. Every time Ransom was in the same room as yours, his chest would hurt, his throat would literally burn, and his legs would tremble. He refused to think that he had transformed weak because Ransom Drysdale wasn’t weak. Though he believed, and he was right, that you had changed his whole world, making you his world.

Your smile made him smile and he leaned closer to your ear, “Listen carefully”, he instructed you, as you did as he said, “I’m going to fuck you here”, he cupped your pussy with his callous hands, “And here”, he let the slip on your back, “And then, all over again. Until we will be so worn out that we will end up sleeping on the floor”.

Once he had asked you if you were ready, Ransom gave a few strokes to his cock and looked at you one more time, before sliding into you slowly, yet firmly. You recalled to your memory the first time he had ever touched you, denying you an orgasm with his fingers; then the next time, in which he made you cum a lot of times with a vibrator and his fingers; and the last time, when you gave him your head.

You tilted your head back as you felt his tip hitting your cervix and he said: “Oh, God…you’re so tight and you’ve fucking took all of me”, Ransom brought his hands on your breasts and gave both of them a steady squeeze, before staring moving inside you.

He had been with thousands of girls before you came into his life -or better, before he realized that the girl he had been waiting for was right in front of his eyes-, and right there, in that moment, he understood that he would have spent his entire life with you, if you only allowed him to.

“God, Ransom, move!”

“Gladly”, firstly he adopted a painfully slow pace, taking too many seconds to pull in and out from you. He groaned, “I promise we will make love, with candles and all the rest. But for now”, he pulled almost completely out, “I just need to fuck you”, he pulled back in with a fast movement and hit your sweet spot.

You cried out his name each time Ransom hit the right spots inside your channel. Your lips shaped in a ‘o’ as warm spread into your whole body, “Please, let me cum”.

“As you wish, babe”, his hands left your breasts and went down to your stomach, stopping just up your core. He looked at you, trying to imprint into his mind this moment -as the first of a lot of others. You were there, stretched out -and spread out- on his desk, making his dirty fantasy real. “What are you doing to me?”

“Right now? I’m letting you fuck me stupid”, you saw him smirking and increase his pace.

“Tell me how it feels”, it was an order and you never disobeyed to an order.

“God, you’re so deep”, you moaned as Ransom thrusted harder into you, “I can feel you hitting my cervix every. Fucking. Time”, you sensed the familiar warm was spreading in the pelvic region of your body, “Oh, God, I’m cumming, babe”, you let out a long, throat-scathing scream as you reached your high. You could barely breathe, at once you were worn out and extra sweaty. You let your hands fall and they hit the wooden-surface really hard.

“Babe”, Ransom managed to say while his orgasm washed over him, “Babe, you cum”.

You shifted all your weight on your elbows and lifted the upper half of your body, “I know I cum, I’ve told you so”, you raised an eyebrow at him, “Where’s the big deal?”

“Babe, you literally came. You squirted”, he ran his hand over his chest and showed you his wet palm. You looked at him in disbelief, and a little bit embarrassed -just enough to make you brush. When Ransom locked his eyes back on your face, he couldn’t help but smile, “Damn, Y/N, this is the sexiest thing ever”, he came closer to you and covered your face in wet kisses, “I want to make you squirt again. Until you’re not able to cum anymore. I’m going to fuck you for hours, for days, and I want you to cum like this every single time”, he punctuated well the last three words as he squeezed your breasts, “God, the things I’m going to do to you. The ways I’m gonna fuck you”, he picked you up and walked out of the room, holding you in his arms. “Babe, we’ve just started”.

-THE END-

Tag List:

ONLY The Assistant Series:

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ALL MY STORIES:

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ALL CHRIS EVANS:

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starf · 3 years

Text

StarF’s Top Ten Albums of 2020

Another year, another list. Let’s not even bother with the preamble this time around, you get what it is.

10. I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME - RAZZMATAZZ

Let me tell you right now, I struggled with this tenth spot. There were about four albums that were pretty much tied once I narrowed it down this far because it was a jam-packed year. Ultimately though I had to give it to iDKHOW for their smooth brand of piano rock-pop. This is their debut album and it brought the heat. While it didn't dazzle me immediately, with every subsequent listen I feel a little more of that promised razzmatazz from the title. I also absolutely love the ballad "Nobody Likes The Opening Band," which will certainly be a fun song to hear them perform some day whether they're the opener or not.

9. The Front Bottoms - In Sickness & In Flames

The last offering from The Front Bottoms, Going Gray, left me feeling a little lukewarm. In Sickness & In Flames, however, is a much stronger return to form for the band in my opinion. Some people say all of The Front Bottoms' albums sound the same, and maybe that's a little bit true. But maybe 2020 is the year that we needed to hear some new Front Bottoms material. It was a strange time for all of us, and in these times this kind of album just hits different. From the optimistic opening of "everyone blooms" to the infectious singalong moments of "Fairbanks, Alaska," this album is a good time all around.

8. The Used - Heartwork

Did you know The Used is still around? Not only still around, but apaprently they never went away! When I saw that they had released a new album early in the year I assumed it was a comeback, but I was wrong! For me there was a 12 year gap since I had personally listened to a new Used album, and this one blew me away in a big way. They're still going big, going hard, and rocking their signature sound - but updated for the modern age. This is a band that has managed to hold on to their roots while successfully adapting and progressing into the future.

7. Oliver Tree - Ugly Is Beautiful

Where do you even start with an artist like Oliver Tree? An absolute master of internet marketing, the release of this album was a tortured and dragged out experience, like a person chasing a 20 dollar bill on a string and having it constantly pulled away over and over again. By the time it came out it was a little disheartening that an entire half of the album had already been released via single, but overall it is undeniably a powerhouse of a pop album and a strong showing from Oliver Tree. A strange character, but an impossibly catchy album with earworm after earworm.

6. The World/Inferno Friendship Society - All Borders Are Porous To Cats

I pretty much always enjoy any offering from this band, but to varying degrees. Their last few albums have certainly been good to my ears, but for whatever reason just didn't resonate enough with me to earn a spot in my top ten. This album is clearly different though, and keeps me enthralled the entire way. With their unique brand of punk-jazz-cabaret, All Borders Are Porous To Cats tells the story of one Mr. Cat In The Hat, and it's a wild ride that you're going to want to hear.

5. Run The Jewels - RTJ4

One of the most biting and necessary releases of the year, RTJ4 dropped right when we needed to hear it most, and for free no less. It's my personal opinion that Run The Jewels continue to get better with every release they put out, and their fourth showing is easily my favorite so far. El-P and Killer Mike come through with some of their sharpest bars and heaviest beats yet. It's just a shame that for how much history repeats we as society still haven't learned some of the lessons that an album like this continues to attempt to teach us.

4. Aesop Rock - Spirit World Field Guide

Spirit World Field Guide is not a typical Aesop Rock album, but then again what is? Back in 2016 I fell in love with the album The Impossible Kid, an accessible (by Aes standards) album that hooked me in immediately. Spirit World is a different beast that took me off guard the first time I heard it, and left me a little bit lost - but that almost seems to be the intent. An absolute monster of an album coming in at 21 tracks and over an hour, this thing wasn't necessarily meant to be ingested all at once, or even in the order presented. The more I revisit it the more I put the pieces together and enjoy it more and more.

3. Poppy - I Disagree

Let's take a journey all the way back to January before the world entirely fell apart. I discovered Poppy for the first time through this album and was quickly intrigued. Going back through her older music, and then her YouTube, and slowly unraveling the mystery that is Poppy was perhaps some of the most fun I've had experiencing an artist's work in years - all topped off with seeing her perform live that month, the last large live music show I've been to. I Disagree is an eclectic blend of pop, metal, and strange curiosity. It starts off right away with the oddball banger Concrete and promises to weed out those who aren't prepared to take the mental trip through this album right away. It's not for everyone, but it's definitely for me.

2. Jeff Rosenstock - N O D R E A M

Well here we are! The number one spot! You guessed it, it's Jeff Rose- what? This isn't number one? Well that can't be right, hold on. Nope, I guess that's correct. The new Jeff Rosenstock album, N O D R E A M comes in at number two this year, a fact that will probably shock and confuse anyone who knows me. This is the proof that Jeff doesn't automatically get my number one spot if he releases an album, but with all of that out of the way, let's talk about the album.

In a Post-Post- world we see Jeff returning to a more traditional take on putting together an album, rather than simply rushing through it to get the feelings out of his head (both perfectly valid approaches). N O D R E A M continues to explore themes of being lost and confused in such a soul-crushing and increasingly overwhelming world - all while attempting to find the silver linings and be optimistic about where we're headed. Whether it's the world at large or a personal journey, this album is an anthem to a year that saw most people holding their head in their hands and saying "please, just, let's all get through this, okay?"

1. Will Wood - The Normal Album

Wow. Just wow. Okay, where to begin? I was listening to a random Spotify radio when it started playing a song by Will Wood & The Tapeworms called "Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!" Intrigued by the style of the song, as well as the title, I clicked through and listened to their most recent album which was 2016's "Self-Ish." I thought it was really good! I enjoyed it a lot and continued to listen to it for about a week. At that point when I started digging further into the band I learned that there was actually an even newer album entitled The Normal Album, categorized on Spotify under just Will Wood, which is why I hadn't previously found it.

I enjoyed Self-Ish, but hearing The Normal Album took it to an entirely new album and blew me away in a way that I haven't experienced in years. This wasn't just a great album, this was one of those musical discoveries where you think "oh wow, this is something I can't live without going forward." Will Wood is exactly what I needed in the back half of 2020 to keep my sanity, and even now I still listen to this album usually at least once a day. It's perfectly crafted in every sense of the world. Not a single second is wasted or out of place. The technical skill is in full display without muddling the pure enjoyment of the melodies or taking away from the overall vibe of the songs. The writing is some of the sharpest and dense I've ever seen, without being undecipherable or inaccessible. This is an album that truly does it all.

The feeling I have when I listen to this album and attempt to get people to listen to it is identical to how I felt about Jeff Rosenstock in the late 2000's, back before he had sort of blown up. Will Wood certainly has a following, but his music is definitely niche at the moment and somewhat obscure. Much in the same way that eventually people listened to me about Jeff, I hope they will find out about Will. Everyone should hear this album. It's breath-takingly perfect.

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besanii · 4 years

Note

Does Smugji sometimes wear that prize, either on his sword or on his person, to special occasions where he feels Wei Wuxian could use a reminder of that moment? Or does he keep it stashed away in his very neat, very Lan, and yet still dragony hoard? I like the thought of him displaying it like a knight at a joust displays his beloved's token of favor. To the blissfully in denial, it looks like a taunt. To the poor Jiang Chengs, it is a horny boast.

Extra 14: Matchmaking | previous parts here

[from Extra 12]

Wei Wuxian forces himself to sit and smile politely as the next suitor takes the seat opposite him at the table. He’s been here almost four hours now and the line doesn’t show any signs of shortening—in fact, he swears it’s growing. Beside him, Yu Ziyuan drums her fingers on the table to get his attention, before fixing him with a warning glare. He sighs.

“Hi, uh…” he squints. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”

“Su She,” his suitor replies with a smarmy little smile that sets Wei Wuxian’s teeth on edge.

Ah. The Snake Tribe. That explains a lot.

He cocks his head to the side and props his chin on one hand.

“How did you manage to get in here?” he asks, only half-curious to know. “I thought the Snake Tribe was cast from the Nine Heavens and not allowed back without summons.”

He bites back a yelp when Yu Ziyuan digs her nails into his thigh in warning. Across the table, Su She’s expression has darkened, but he remains committed to the smile on his face, even though it’s starting to look physically painful at this point. He’s got to hand it to him though—most people would have flipped out by now.

“I heard Xiao-dianxia likes music,” Su She says, changing the topic. “I have brought a copy of the rarest score in Moling’s collection as a gift to commemorate our first meeting.”

He lays a thin book on the table and pushes it towards Wei Wuxian, who barely spares it a glance before he sniffs.

“Moling’s collection?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “You mean the ones you were cast out of the Nine Heavens for stealing?”

“Wei Wuxian!” Yu Ziyuan snaps.

Su She’s face sours, his mouth twisted as though he’s eaten something particularly foul, but he remains seated. He must be really desperate for this to work if he’s still sitting here after Wei Wuxian’s insulted his tribe to his face twice. Unluckily for him, his very face makes Wei Wuxian’s teeth hurt and he’s not feeling very nice right now.

“Oh, did I hear incorrectly then?” he asks with feigned innocence, not even bothering to raise his chin from its perch on his hand. “That can’t be right. It was such a huge scandal not even a hundred years ago, even the common folk in Qing Qiu heard about it.”

Which is true. Everyone had been talking about it when it happened. How Su She of the Snake Tribe had stolen away copies of ancient texts from the Library Pavilion while he had been a guest and then took them back to his lair at Moling. Lan Qiren had flown into a rage that shook the Nine Heavens, and the entire Snake Tribe had subsequently been barred from entering their realm ever again. As for why it had happened in the first place, well…from the way Su She dressed all in white, to the way he styled his hair with a silver guan, it really wasn’t that hard to tell who he was trying to emulate.

Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose at the thought. As if this lowly snake could ever hope to measure up to Lan Wangji’s magnificence!

Su She’s entire face has gone an ugly shade of puce and his shoulders are shaking in anger. Still, he stays put and plasters the smile to his face once again.

“A misunderstanding, Xiao-dianxia,” he says through clenched teeth. It’s a wonder how they haven’t fallen out yet with how hard he’s grinding them together. “The volume I present to you today is one of my own personal collection. In fact, I could play—”

He chokes in mid-sentence, eyes bulging and hands scrabbling at his throat. Behind him, the long line of suitors still waiting for their chance to meet Wei Wuxian break out into surprised gasps as one-by-one they sink into low bows.

"Er-dianxia,” they chorus.

“Huh?” Wei Wuxian says, confused. “Lan Zhan?”

Turning around in his seat, he’s met with the sight of Lan Wangji walking up behind him with a frosty expression on his handsome face, his amber eyes boring holes into Su She over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Yu Ziyuan snorts derisively, pulling Wei Wuxian to his feet so they can greet Lan Wangji.

“What brings you here, Lan-er-dianxia?” she asks. “Surely not to join the line of suitors?”

Lan Wangji returns greeting with clipped politeness.

“Yu Ziyuan-shangshen,” he says. “I am here to see if Wei Ying is ready to leave.”

“Leave?” Yu Ziyuan repeats, glaring at Wei Wuxian. “Where? He still has suitors to meet and events to attend. He will not be available for the next few days.”

Days?! Wei Wuxian wails internally. Lan Zhan, save me!

“Begging your pardon, Shangshen,” Lan Wangji says with another short bow. “I had previously promised to take Wei Ying to see Fan Yin Valley the next time it reopened its borders. Today just so happens to be the only day for the next one hundred years.”

Wei Wuxian perks up. Fan Yin Valley? Oh, he’s always wanted to go there! Lan Wangji is so terribly clever to think of it as an excuse.

Yu Ziyuan looks unimpressed at his sudden enthusiasm, and irritable at Lan Wangji’s interruption.

“He will need to wait until this appointment is over,” she says, gesturing at Su She, who is starting to go purple from trying to break free of Lan Wangji’s silencing charm.

Lan Wangji inclines his head.

“Of course,” he replies calmly. He walks around to Wei Wuxian’s other side and takes the remaining seat at the table. “I am happy to wait.”

Yu Ziyuan stares at him wordlessly for a moment, struggling to find a reason to get him to leave. Wei Wuxian rejoices when she eventually folds her arms and sits back with a huff, glaring at out at the empty air over Su She’s head. Lan Wangji pours himself a cup of tea nonchalantly, supremely unconcerned by the daggers being bored through the side of his head through Su She’s eyes. As he raises the cup to his lips, a flash of colour at his wrist catches Wei Wuxian’s attention.

“Hey, isn’t that—” he starts to say, reaching out to make a grab for it. Lan Wangji grabs his wrist in mid-air before he can make contact though. “Lan Zhan! What is that?”

Lan Wangji hums and presses Wei Wuxian’s hand on the table, curling his own fingers around his to hold them still.

“A trinket,” he says, and tightens his grip when he feels Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch. “Be good.”

Wei Wuxian pouts. But he wants to see!

He walks the fingers on his other hand slowly across his lap, inching towards Lan Wangji’s sleeve in tiny increments to avoid detection. His other hand is still pinned on the table while Lan Wangji casually sips his tea, but that’s okay. It’s not important. He just needs to get close enough to—

”Aha!” he shouts, pinching the edge of Lan Wangji’s sleeve and flipping it back over his wrist victoriously. “…Oh.”

There, wound neatly around Lan Wangji’s wrist and stretching down his forearm, is a very familiar red ribbon. It stands out against the plain white of Lan Wangji’s robes, a bright splash of colour that draws all eyes towards it; Wei Wuxian unconsciously reaches up to finger the matching ribbon in his own hair.

Why is Lan Wangji wearing his ribbon around his wrist? And in public!

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes are closed, her brows pinched together as if to ward off a headache. For once, Wei Wuxian doesn’t blame her. He wants to know what’s happening too! Lan Wangji calmly sets his cup back on the table, turning to Wei Wuxian expectantly.

“Wei Ying, are you ready to go?” he asks, completely ignoring the way Wei Wuxian’s face is starting to resemble the ribbon on his wrist. “The borders will not remain open for long, so we must not delay.”

He gets to his feet without waiting for a reply, pulling Wei Wuxian up with him by their still-joined hands, and bows to Yu Ziyuan.

“Shangshen, I apologise for the disruption,” he says. “We will take our leave now.”

Yu Ziyuan nods stiffly, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this, Wei Wuxian,” she warns. “I am letting you go today out of respect for Lan-er-dianxia. But you will meet with every single one of your suitors when you return, do you hear me?”

Wei Wuxian bows his head.

“Yes, Yu-furen,” he mumbles reluctantly. Maybe he could convince Lan Wangji to let him stay in Fan Yin Valley for the next one, two hundred years until they all get tired of waiting for him and leave of their own accord. “Come on, Lan Zhan, let’s go!”

But Lan Wangji has turned instead to Su She, who looks about a second away from passing out, his mouth still sealed by the silencing charm.

“The Snake Tribe has been banished from the Nine Heavens,” he says, voice chilly. “Leave here at once. If you dare show your face here again, it will be taken as a declaration of war and treated accordingly.”

With that, he sweeps right past him with a wide-eyed Wei Wuxian in tow, the ribbon on his wrist on full display for the suitors still mingling around in the courtyard. They stare at the two of them with open-mouthed shock; Wei Wuxian gives them a cheeky little wave as they leave, and presses a little closer to Lan Wangji.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” he whispers, tugging on his sleeve. “Are we really going to Fan Yin Valley? You’re not just saying that to get me out of this matchmaking thing right?”

“We’re going,” Lan Wangji assures him, smiling when Wei Wuxian hums happily and starts bouncing on his feet as they walk along the wide pathway.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says as a sudden thought occurs to him. “Where did you get the ribbon from?”

Lan Wangji pauses in mid-step and turns. “You don’t remember?”

“Hmm…not really,” Wei Wuxian confesses, scratching his head. “Did I drop it somewhere? Why are you wearing it?”

One elegant eyebrow twitches.

“Think about it,” Lan Wangji tells him abruptly, and keeps walking.

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian protests, stumbling a couple of steps as he tries to keep up with the brisk pace.

What the hell? Why’s he suddenly getting all annoyed? If he could remember, would he even bother asking?

But Lan Wangji just keeps walking without elaborating, though the tips of his ears look a little pink. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light. Wei Wuxian puffs out his cheeks and tugs on his sleeve again, sidling closer to his side.

“Lan Zhan.“ No response. “Lan-er-dianxia. Lan-er-gege…look at me?”

He beams when Lan Wangji finally spares him a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Let’s take our time in Fan Yin Valley, okay?” he says. “You have to show me all the sights, and buy me all the food and souvenirs, okay? I don’t want to miss a single thing!”

He puts on his cutest expression, head tilted to the side, eyes wide and smile bright. It’s always worked on his parents and on Jiang Yanli, and from the way Lan Wangji’s expression softens, it works on him too. The hand still holding onto his tightens briefly as Lan Wangji hums, and Wei Wuxian’s heart skips a beat at the fondness in his voice.

“Whatever you want,” Lan Wangji says.

// buy me a ko-fi //

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uniquelyaro · 3 years

Text

Living a Lovely Loveless Life

I am a creature of contradictions.

I love swimming at the beach, but you couldn’t get me out in open water for love or money. If I can’t see land, if the ocean is so deep I can’t even imagine the bottom, I am terrified.

I admire the raw power of storms and adore the smell of rain, but I flinch when lightning flashes, because I’m petrified of the loud crack of thunder that always follows.

I love the cold, because it means I can wrap myself in the warmest clothes and take my showers boiling hot.

I am aromantic, and yet, I am in love.

I never expected to fall in love. I’ve never had anything against the concept, but I was fairly sure I wasn't capable of it. I'm still sure, actually. But, I'm also in love.

If that sounds confusing to you, don't worry, I'm confused too.

I’ve been confused for most of my life. I spent the first 21 years of my life confused about my feelings, and about why I never seemed to feel the way my friends did. I was confused why I never seemed to experience things the way the media and society told me I should. I stopped being as confused when I found the aromantic label and community. Finding a word to describe myself felt like coming home. For the first time I had people who understood me, who helped me understand myself.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for me to realise that in some ways I was still the odd one out. The aromantic community is simultaneously both very anti-romance and very pro-love. Contradictory and confusing as that as that sounds, it makes a certain kind of sense. We reject the expectations of romance that society forces on us, while simultaneously reminding people that love doesn’t have to mean romance. Aromantics aren’t heartless or cold. We can love just as intensely and deeply as anyone else.

Well, other aromantics can. Me? Kind of a different story.

I honestly believe that I have never felt an emotion I can comfortably point to and call love. Not romantic, not platonic, not even familial. It feels like such a terrible thing to say, that I don’t love even my family, but it’s true. I care for them, for people, and I often care deeply. But I'm not sure I love them. Most people seem to think that’s sad. Even other aromantics have told me how sorry they are for me, how difficult life must be without love, but I don’t know any different.

Instead, the difficult thing for me is seeing how much the aromantic community likes to focus on love. They reject romance, sure, but instead other forms of love, such as platonic and familial are placed on a (very high) pedestal. Queerplatonic relationships are a big thing in the aromantic community, and it's treated as the pinacle of aromantic relationships, the thing to strive for. It’s very common to see an aromantic say things like “love doesn’t mean romantic love/romance”, “aromantics still love their friends and family”, or even “saying aromantics can’t feel love is a harmful stereotype.”

These statements aren’t wrong. On their own, they are very important things to point out because the ‘heartless cold aromantic’ trope is a harmful stereotype, and should be combatted. However, all too often it comes at the expense of aromantics like myself, the aplatonics and ‘loveless’ aros. It feels much too similar to the old “asexuals can still feel romance” for me. As a stand alone statement, it’s not wrong. For some people it’s even an important argument to make. However, it’s usually coupled with the harmful implication of “see, we can feel X thing just like normal people do. There’s nothing wrong with us”. It just moves the goalposts of acceptable differences, at the cost of people like me. It's a different bus, but I’m still being thrown underneath it.

That isn’t the only way I feel like an outsider in my community however. While aromantics can be very focused on the idea of platonic, queerplatonic or familial love, they tend to push romance to the side. Even when they don’t outright hate it, romance isn’t usually seen in a positive light within the aromantic community. It’s understandable, because amatonormativity and the pedestal it places romance on is a problem. Society’s expectations and views of romance as the be all and end all of existence is damaging, and the main reason I thought I was broken for so long. But you can reject toxic romantic ideals without rejecting romance altogether, something it doesn’t alway seem like the aromantic community understands.

I don’t feel romance, but I don’t hate it. It’s the opposite actually, because I like romance. I enjoy dating people, as long as they are aware of and respect my identity. I like romantically coded actions, and I seek out emotional intimacy. I’m completely comfortable with people feeling romantically about me. Strangely, I had more romantic partners after coming out as aromantic than I did before, most lasting for at least a year or more. I was even engaged to be married last year, and I'm hoping to be engaged again in the near future.

In fact, my planned future follows some fairly traditional romantic goals. My partner and I plan on getting married, having some kids, and settling down to live our lives together, although not necessarily in that order. It’s the kind of life I thought I wouldn’t be able to have after I realised I was aromantic. I convinced myself it wasn’t what I wanted, both because I thought it wouldn’t be possible for me and because the aromantic community tends to be very focused on the rejection of traditional romantic scripts. I thought that because I was aromantic I should be smashing through amatonormative expectations, a shining beacon of why traditional romance was overrated and wrong, why it's expected goals are harmful.

My partner changed everything for me.

We met through our online Dungeons and Dragons game. A friend of mine invited me after I complained that I hadn’t played in years (also about my very poor social life). Turns out, it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

At the time most people in my life (myself included) thought it was a risky one, for a multitude of reasons. I had previously had bad experiences with long distance relationships and he lived halfway across the country. I was already engaged and although I was polyamourous he had no experience with those kinds of relationships. His name started with J, and I already had (at least) 7 evil exes all starting with the same letter, two of which even shared his name. I was skirting close to 30, he was barely 21, and my previous (traumatic) long distance relationship had also been with a much younger partner. Each of those reasons alone should have been enough to give me pause. Combined, it very much felt like the odds were stacked against us.

Yet, we’re still together over a year later. Our relationship survived him moving here just three months into it, the first time we met in person. It survived the fact that he arrived just before the state borders closed and lockdown started properly, so we spent a lot of time unable to leave the house, stuck in each other’s company. It survived the breakdown (and breakup) of my engagement to my fiance, and the rocky transition as we learned to live as exes and housemates rather than partners. It survived the late nights, larger workload and infinitely more stress when I got promoted to a higher position at work. It survived, and more than that, it grew. It grew into something different than anything I have ever felt before, because in the middle of it all, I fell in love with him.

It wasn’t a sudden thing. There wasn’t one particular moment when it hit me, because I couldn’t even make sense of what I felt at first. I just knew I felt very strongly, and that it was a different feeling then I had ever had before.

Oftentimes when I ask alloromantic people what love feels like, the answer I get the most is “you just know”. Not the most helpful answer, but I don’t really blame them for it. Love is difficult to describe in a singular way. The truth is I could ask five people to describe love and get twelve different answers. Everyone has a different view on love, and it changes with each person you love. How you love them, why you love them, it changes from day to day. How could you ever properly describe the shifting nature of something that never stands still? Something that grows and changes with each action, each word and look and touch.

I don’t feel love, but I think I understand it. I sit on a very unique intersection of aromanticism and love, an experience not often seen and very seldom shared. I don’t feel love, but I’m also not romance repulsed. I don’t hate romance, or reject it. I participate in it, seek it out, even crave it. Now, I get to experience it.

Does my love feel the same as the love an alloromantic person would feel? I don’t know, and quite honestly, I don’t care. Love isn’t something that can be compared between people, because no one else can feel love the way I do, just as I can’t feel love the way someone else does. My love is as unique as I am, as unique as the person I love is. The love I feel right now will never be replicated, whether I never love again or I love a hundred thousand times.

What I do know is falling in love let me make peace with myself, and all my contradictions. I don’t have to feel love to surround myself with it, to give and receive care and affection and intimacy. I can hate amatonormativity and fight against it while also wanting traditional romantic goals for myself, because this time I chose them. I can feel at home in a community while simultaneously being an outsider, because sharing a label doesn’t mean we share all the same views, opinions and experiences. I learned about myself because of what we shared, but I also learned because of what we didn’t.

I am aromantic and I don’t feel love. I am aromantic and I am in love. Both statements are true at the same time, because humans are messy and confusing and full of contradictions. I embrace mine as part of who I am, what makes me, well, me. And there’s no one I’d rather be, than me.

#aromantic #aro #loveless aromantic #personal thoughts #long post #some thoughts I've wanted to put into words for a long time #even in loveless aro spaces I don't always see this view #someone who is loveless but also participates in romance

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love-and-monsters · 4 years

Text

Wyvern Prince: Epilogue

M wyvern X F human, 2,346 words

CW for major character death

This is the last chapter of Davrakoss and Sara’s story. It’s been almost a year since I started posting the original story. We’ve come a long way! For all the people who’ve followed the story, thank you so much! It was really fun to do another long form story. Just as a note, because this story ending coincides with grad school beginning, I’m going to go on a short (two week) hiatus to get all my ducks in a row. Thank you all again for reading and your patience. Enjoy the epilogue!

Davrakoss legitimately hadn’t noticed at first. In his defense, he wasn’t very good with human ages. He’d spent little time with them and, given that wyvern aging slowed significantly after maturity, he didn’t have a good baseline for what humans were supposed to look like as they got older.

So, when Sara didn’t look that mush different after ten years, he assumed it was normal for some humans and didn’t think much about it.

It wasn’t like he was a complete idiot. He noticed that other humans changed. And he was aware of what aging looked like. The servants showed signs of age first, their rough lives wearing into their faces with stress wrinkles and graying hair. Nobles had the ability to mostly disguise their aging. Hair could be dyed or disguised with wigs, expensive creams could be brought in from other countries to prevent wrinkling, and life without rough work meant that they kept their youthful looks for much longer. And given that Sara had been elevated to the level of a noble, Davrakoss compared her looks to the other nobles and saw minimal differences in both.

But aging couldn’t be avoided forever. And by ten years of minimal changes to her looks, other people were starting to notice, even if Davrakoss didn’t.

The nobles spoke to Sara first, prying into her beauty regime. Most were eager to know if she’d found some kind of beauty secret from another country. Given that Sara had basically no beauty routine, the questions were parried away quickly. But it was the beginning of the realization that something was different.

Davrakoss found her, several nights after that, peering at herself in the mirror. “Do you think I look old?” she asked him one night, when they were in the bathroom together.

“No,” Davrakoss said honestly. She didn’t. She barely looked older than when they’d first met. Maybe there was some slight wrinkling at the corners of her eyes, a slightly more mature look to her face, but she didn’t look that different.

He had expected her to be pleased. Humans didn’t seem to like aging all that much. But her brows had creased and she’d leaned back looking discomfited.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, setting down his brush and moving to her side. She frowned into the mirror, tilting her head back and forth as if hoping her expression would suddenly change.

“Shouldn’t I look old?” she asked. “Well, maybe not old, but older, at least. I’m in my thirties, but I look like I’m still in my twenties.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Davrakoss asked cautiously. “Humans don’t like aging.”

“It’s a weird thing,” Sara said. “It’s not normal. I should be getting older.” She drew back from the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink tightly enough that her knuckles started to go white. “People are noticing. If this keeps going on, more people are going to notice.”

Davrakoss stroked his fingers through her hair, twining a few strands together. “It’ll be all right. People are just going to assume you look youthful.” He kissed her forehead. “Come to bed.” He tugged on her hand. “I’ll make it worth your while?”

Sara smiled and took hold of his hand, following him.

Now that the seed had been planted, Davrakoss found himself looking at other humans, comparing their current looks with what he remembered from ten years ago. And, once he was looking for it, he could see that there was something wrong.

Everyone else looked different. Some of the changes were subtle, but if he looked, they were all present. Sara looked almost no different. In fact, looking at himself in the mirror gave himself a realization.

She had changed exactly as much as he had in the past ten years. Small little changes, but nothing big. Nothing that indicated they were aging.

Feeling mildly panicked, he wrote a quick letter to his parents. They responded a week later and he read the response with a tight, thrumming anxiety in his chest.

“We need to talk,” he said to Sara. She gave him an alarmed look. “In private,” he added, casting a look to the few servants lingering in the room. She frowned, but allowed him to pull her into their room and securely latched the door.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as Davrakoss sat on his bed and gestured for her to sit next to him. She looked at him cautiously. “What happened?”

“Nothing in particular,” Davrakoss said. “But, ah. It concerns you.” He passed Sara the letter.

She read through it. He saw her eyes move over the letter once, then twice, then three times. Her fingers tightened on the paper and she took in a strangled breath.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He tentatively touched her shoulder.

“Your parents think I’m not aging anymore?” she said, glancing up at him.

“You did suggest it first,” Davrakoss said. “I wrote to them in case they’d heard of something else like this. They hadn’t, but they did have some theories.”

“I saw that,” Sara said, glancing at the letter. “They think you’re healing me from again?”

“Oh.” Davrakoss felt his face starting to warm. It was an unfortunate thing about being human that they showed things like embarrassment so easily. “Yes, um, you know how I mentioned that wyvern blood and saliva and such has healing power?” Sara nodded. “All our body fluids have healing powers. My parents suggested that maybe if you were to be in contact with my, um. Fluids. Repeatedly. It might start healing other things. Like aging.”

Sara’s mouth opened slowly. “I’m immortal?”

“I think they said that’s unlikely.” Davrakoss glanced back at the letter again. “Yes, right there. It’s unlikely that you’ll stop aging entirely. You’ll just age a lot slower. Probably around the same rate as me.”

Sara stared down at the bed. She was breathing slowly, apparently focused on something else. Davrakoss squeezed her arm gently. “Sara? Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said, but her voice was a little faint. Davrakoss took hold of her and pulled her into him, letting her rest her head on his shoulder. He smoothed her hair with a hand. “We just spent so much time worrying that I was going to die a lot sooner than you. And now it turns out we don’t have to worry at all.” She let out a weak giggle, snuggling her face further into his shoulder.

“No,” Davrakoss said. “We don’t.” They sat together for a few minutes, allowing relief to roll through them.

After a few moments, Davrakoss cleared his throat. “We need to discuss something else,” he said. “Um. I don’t know if you read through the letter entirely, but they do mention at the end…”

Sara lifted her head. “They want us to leave.”

Davrakoss found himself trailing his fingers through her hair over and over, trying to soothe himself. “People are going to notice that you aren’t aging.”

“People have already noticed that I’m not aging,” Sara said.

“I know. It’s only going to get worse the longer we stay and the more obvious it gets, the more likely that people are going to start connecting the dots.” Sara worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “They said they’ll give us some territory close to the border. My sister will be able to take over for me in a couple of years and then we can just stay in our own territory full time. We can even live near a human town, if you want, so you can still interact with humans.”

Sara nodded slowly. “I remember you telling me you wanted to live out there. Just you and me together. No responsibilities.”

“Mmm,” Davrakoss hummed. He leaned into her and she leaned into him so they were supporting each other. “Are you okay with it?”

Sara squeezed his hand, working her fingers over his knuckles. “We’re going to get away from all the annoyances of noble life. It’ll be just the two of us.” She glanced up at him. “Yeah. I think I’m okay with it.”

A pulse of delight rolled through Davrakoss’ body and he was overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. She laughed as he did. “We’ll have to leave soon,” he said. “Within a few months. We don’t want to stay around here any longer than we have to.”

Sara smiled up at him. There was nervousness in her eyes, but her expression was confident. “We’d better start getting ready, then.”

In the end, Davrakoss was able to use the nervousness people had toward wyverns to his advantage. Dropping a few hints that suggested he needed to be somewhere open to exercise his hunting instincts seemed to give the nobles a fright. Within two months, he had managed to convince them that he needed to live in a larger territory or he was going to eat them all.

“It’s been ten years,” he said to Sara as they packed up their belongings. “You would think they would know better. I’m not going to eat them!”

“Humans just get nervous around anything stronger than they are,” Sara said matter-of-factly. Davrakoss gave her a smirk.

“You speak as though you aren’t human.” A strange look crossed Sara’s face.

“Maybe I’m not entirely one anymore,” she said. “Not sure it’s such an awful thing.”

She was silent for much of the ride out to wyvern territory. Davrakoss tried to spark conversation a few times, but it all felt hollow. In the end, he fell silent and let her say goodbye to her home in peace.

He carried her up to their home on his back. Her fingers dug into his scales. He could almost feel her nervousness. The home was a cavern, not on top of a mountain, but in the midst of a forest. It was a quiet, pleasant place, and the cave had been used as a wyvern den previously, meaning it was well-insulated and not as dirty as a normal cave would have been.

It took some time to get Davrakoss’ horde settled. “It’s homey, isn’t it?” Davrakoss asked. With lights set up and a rug and nest of blankets and pillows set up, it was warm and inviting. Sara looked around and gave a single, pleased nod.

“It’s nice here,” she said. She turned and gave him a broad smile, which he automatically returned. “Welcome home.”

It didn’t take too long to settle into a routine. Davrakoss spent time hunting and Sara would rummage through the forest for plants to set up a garden. On the weekends, she and Davrakoss would go into a nearby town for any pother supplies they needed, and to allow Sara to socialize.

The longer they stayed in the wilderness, the more obvious it became that Sara wasn’t aging. Gradually, she and Davrakoss tapered off their interaction with any humans. There were murmurs of a mysterious, ageless woman who loved in the woods with her strange husband, but they were stories told ton scare children, and if anyone of power believed them, they were too afraid to go looking for her. No one ever seemed to connect their presence with the presence of the wyvern they sometimes saw flying over the woods.

Davrakoss engaged in politics with extreme rarity. He would occasionally guide his sister in her princess duties, but he seemed to enjoy not being in the limelight.

“It’s calmer,” he said to Sara. “Much simpler. And I don’t have to worry about anyone except you.”

They lived together in peace. Davrakoss found himself more contented than he had been in his entire life. He had his mate, he had a territory to hunt in, and he had few worries other than filling his belly and relaxing

Years passed in slow contentment, and they watched as humanity advanced. Prejudice against wyverns faded, though it didn’t vanish entirely. Davrakoss was able to see his species establish peace and trade with humans and watch as communication between the species became more open. Wyverns fought alongside humans in a couple of wars and several wyverns even took on human forms more permanently and lived in human societies.

Wyverns lived long enough that, to most humans, they appeared ageless. But they weren’t. And eventually, Davrakoss noticed the streaks of gray that worked into Sara’s hair. There was white in his hair too, but it was blonde enough that it was difficult to notice. She pulled at her hair with dissatisfaction until Davrakoss reassured her that she was beautiful nonetheless.

All things considered, she lived a remarkably long life, for a human. Two hundred and eighty was far longer than most humans could expect to live, even if it was slightly under wyvern life expectancy.

Davrakoss sensed it coming before it happened. He couldn’t have said exactly what it was. But he woke in the morning with an odd sense of dread in his stomach.

He was supposed to hunt, really, but he spent his day curled around Sara. There was just a sense that if he left, something would go completely wrong. She must have known he was anxious, because there was no teasing or prodding him to get on with his normal day. She just stroked his scales (as he got older, transforming took more effort and he spent more time in his wyvern form) and sang to him.

Eventually, late in the evening, Sara slumped against him. She slipped quietly into sleep. And then, with Davrakoss curled close to her, sleeping peacefully in her home, she died.

Davrakoss buried her in the forest outside their cave. He spent hours at her graveside, ignoring his complaining stomach.

For the next twenty-five years, he never assumed his human form again. And when he sensed his death was coming, he crawled outside his cave and lay down on his mate’s grave.

There was a sense of peace in it. For twenty-five years, he had missed his mate. And now he was going to return to her. Contented, Davrakoss closed his eyes for the final time.

#exophilia #wyvern #wyvern boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster romance #MxF #humanxmonster #OCxOC #wyvern lover

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